Epic
by myrmidryad
Summary: Movieverse. Not much of the actual mainstrean characters, but it does end up eventually with EdmundxOC pairing. Be warned - she ain't human but she ain't Narnian either. Full summary inside, so check it out. Definately the longest I've written.
1. Beginnings

_Okay, this is part of the hugest, massivest fic I have ever written (apart from the Transformers fic, and that was a collab). There's gonna be eight chapters, and none of them as long as this, though they come pretty close. I know it's not focused on the main characters - sorry about that, but if you don't like, don't read. Flames will be ignored._

**Extended Summary -** _this is like the events missed out in the books and films from another's point of view. Stuff like the Telmarine invasion and the destruction of Cair Paravel. I was very interested in how that all happened, so came up with the story myself._

**DISCLAIMER:** _If this was a real disclaimer, it would be funny._

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Jarqual strode down the dirt hall excitedly, snarling under her breath. She had good news to present to the court – a strange, warlike people had come down from the western mountains and were driving past all resistance from the Shuddering Wood.

A male harpy passed her and grinned, showing his sharp teeth. She snarl-grinned back, and he sniffed the air, catching the scent of her excitement and licking his lips. He waited till she was several paces ahead before following.

Satisfaction flooded Jarqual as the male accepted her dominance. Either that, or he was looking for something else. She snorted at the thought. She was not yet ready to breed, and wasn't giving off any of the signs, which meant that he was accepting her dominance because she was the better fighter, which of course was true.

Harpies were similar in appearance to humans, though they were different in every other respect. For one thing, a fully fledged harpy looked to humans like a teenager, only fifteen or sixteen years of age. For another, they were almost immortal. Left alone, a harpy could live indefinitely – their numbers were small because they killed each other on a daily basis in their ritual fighting 'games'.

And then there was the whole fighting thing.

Harpies had no conscience or sensitivity to speak of. They did not need sustenance in the forms of food and water – battle was their meal. They fed off the joy of fighting. Technically, a harpy on its own would starve and die because they could not feed off themselves, but two harpies that fought each other with vicious enthusiasm could live off each other forever, though one of them would die eventually in the fighting that would result of two harpies being cooped up together.

In wars, harpies sometimes fought for both sides, splitting up and attacking each other on the battlefield. None of the other Narnians understood what they meant when they said that it was only in fun, because they loved a decent challenge.

Harpies were ruled over by a King or Queen. The genders were equal – whoever could win the fight won the King or Queenship. The King or Queen could be challenged by anyone, though it was rare, because it was an unspoken rule that a serious challenge was a fight to the death, and although surrender was an option, no harpy would ever take that path. To a harpy, honour and their standing in the court hierarchy was everything, and to surrender was to be branded a coward and treated with total disgust for the rest of their lives, which would not be very long, as no harpy fought a coward.

Harpy children were all equal at birth, no matter what their parents standing in the court. For that reason, there were no princes or princesses or high-born children. No one got a fast track to a high position – it had to be earned in the games. When young, harpies formed groups of friends, often with their siblings, and fought in packs in the lowest levels of the underground realm, known as the jungles. The weak were weeded out quickly, as even young harpies had no queries about killing each other in battle. Wars in the jungles were serious and deadly, and leaders were established quickly.

Whenever the youngsters thought they were ready, they came up out of the jungles, usually in their packs, and had to fight one of the fully fledged harpies in the game pits for their right to own proper weapons. Once they had proved themselves (they rarely won the matches, but the fully fledged harpy they'd fought vouched for their fighting spirit), they were allowed weapons.

Jarqual herself had chosen her twin black knives, slightly curved, the pommel small carvings of a lion – Aslan. Harpies were loyal to Aslan before all others, and in a battle, if Aslan appeared and fought on the opposing side to them, they would immediately switch sides and attack with the great lion.

The art of crafting black blades had long been lost to any but the dwarves, and they kept it a closely guarded secret.

But Jarqual was not thinking of her happy childhood spent fighting viciously in the jungles, but of the court's reaction to her news. After all, scouting was her area of expertise, and it had been her scouts who had seen the strange band of humans as they made their way to the Telmar River. It was her right to tell them what she knew.

Jarqual was a fully fledged harpy, with flaming red hair pinned up in a spiky fighting style, a black corset and purple skirt that fell to her knees. Tight shorts underneath fitted close to her legs and her belt with its two daggers hung easily around her hips. Fishnet clothed her right arm from her shoulder down to her middle finger, held up by a strap around her neck, and more covered her left leg from her thigh to her big toe. Her eyes were outlined in black, with the lines extending halfway either side up the bridge of her nose, in harpy battle style. The White Witch had copied that style in her last battle against Aslan and the four Kings and Queens. She was a female harpy at her prime, and she wasn't afraid to swagger and show it off.

There were several other harpies following her now, and one of the females was crowding her. Jarqual bared her teeth and narrowed her black-ringed eyes, glaring out from their corners at the intruder. She was fresh from the jungles, only a few years ago had her belt been knife-less. Inda, Jarqual remembered her.

All at once, she stopped, snapping her head around and snarling at the younger harpy angrily, warning her to back off. The other harpies growl-grinned as Inda wrinkled her nose and bared her teeth balefully, but still backed up to a safe distance. She was no fool.

Jarqual kept up a low growl till Inda was out of her immediate attack-range before turning sharply on her heel and striding on. Her eyes glowed in the darkness of the tunnels and adrenaline pumped through her veins as she considered the importance of her information – new humans from across the western mountains could mean a war, and if that was at all in doubt, the harpies would unhesitatingly start one. What did they care if the other races were peace-lovers? They had to live off the glory of battle. They had to feed themselves.

The adrenaline demanded to be released, and Jarqual roared, breaking into a sprint. The other harpies behind her snarled greedily and ran after her tossing their heads and barking small growl-roars.

The hall widened and opened onto the council hall. It was huge, large enough for the entire population, which about three hundred strong, not including the constantly shifting population of children, who came in at roughly a hundred. It was undecorated, the walls plain dirt brown, with brackets holding torches at regular intervals. In the centre was a dirt stage, raised to an average harpies' shoulder height. It was rectangular in shape, and the King or Queen stood on it, as well as whomever he or she was allowing to speak at the time.

Jarqual's sister, Rijal, was the Queen. They were identical in all but hair colour (Rijal's hair was coal black) and age – Rijal was a year or so older than Jarqual. No one but Rijal occupied the stage, so Jarqual launched herself forward and cleared the gap in one great leap, swinging her arms to regain her balance as she landed.

She grinned wildly, first at Rijal, then at the court. Pulling her right dagger from her belt, she thrust it into the air with an undulating, screeching, victorious battle cry. The hall fell quiet, as the court trained their keen eyes on her. Jarqual preened – she loved being the centre of attention.

"Harpies!" She cried, keeping her dagger in the air. "News! Humans have crossed into Narnia through a pass in the western mountains and are making their way to Telmar River. They have killed Narnians from the Shuddering Wood, who tried to approach them." Her eyes glittered. "Whenever humans come to Narnia, it means only one thing." She looked around the room for dramatic effect, then spun wildly in a circle, unable to contain her glee. "War!"

The hall erupted, war-cries and shouts of excitement filling the air. Only one harpy did not scream with delight – Rijal. Jarqual was not surprised. Rijal had always been strange. She had gained Queenship in the standard way – killing the old monarch, the King, though she had not gloated or preened as harpies tended to do over their victories. In fact, she never played the games (unheard of) or killed anyone by choice. But her leadership skills were unrivalled, and her jungle reputation preceded her, so no one had openly challenged her for her Queenship. Yet.

There was a chorus of excited yells as a makeshift ring formed in front of the stage with two harpies circling each other, spitting and hissing, their weapons of choice; a sword and a scimitar out. At an unseen signal, they both roared at each other, their faces scrunched up into unrecognisable masks of hate and viciousness. A harpy roar was like the yowling cry of a cheetah crossed with the mewling scream of a griffin. Most harpy fights started out with each harpy trying to intimidate the other with their roar, much like cats screaming in each other's faces.

"Sister." Rijal called quietly. "Let me speak to you alone."

Jarqual nodded – she was Rijal's closest friend and advisor – and followed her sister off the stage and through a gap in the crowd to a door on the far side, opposite the main entrance. Rijal sighed as she closed the door behind them, shutting off the noise of the two harpies' roars.

"Jarqual," She sighed deeply. "Why couldn't you have told me before you shouted the news up there?" She rubbed her left temple with two fingers and closed her eyes, dark-rimmed, like all harpies.

Jarqual bristled. "We do not have secrets. What would you have done had I informed you of the invaders first?"

"We'll never know now." Rijal said wearily, sinking to the floor. Jarqual shifted, debating whether to remain standing, but then knelt next to her sister.

"What are you thinking, Rijal?"

Rijal sighed again, her shoulders slumping. "That these invaders should be tested, to find out if they really are dangerous."

"We can make them dangerous whether they are or not!" Jarqual hissed. "Let me take a pack and unleash hell on them in the night. They will retaliate, and we will have a war on our hands!"

"And what will that mean for those Narnians who do not want war?" Rijal lifted her head and looked at Jarqual reproachfully.

"Who cares?" Jarqual's eyes brightened. "We live for war."

"What about the steward?" Rijal shook her head. "He must be informed."

"Pah!" Jarqual spat, leaping to her feet. "You are acting like a coward, sister!" To her surprise, the deadly insult did not rile the Queen.

"I am acting as I must for the good of Narnia." She said tiredly. "That was the duty they entrusted to us."

Jarqual snarled irritably. "They are gone, Rijal! It's been a hundred years since the Kings and Queens went missing, in these very woods! Humans cannot live that long, you know that!"

"I will not believe they are dead until I see bodies!" Rijal jumped up and glared sadly at Jarqual.

"A hundred years, sister." Jarqual implored. "No human can live that long." She leaned closer, her eyes peering into Rijal's. "King Edmund has been dead for many years."

"No!" At last, Rijal pulled her weapon from her belt, her deadly throwing stars. Her hand shook as she clasped it. "I will not believe until I see bodies."

"Believe what you will." Jarqual snapped. "But they are dead. It makes no difference anyway – he never even glanced at you. You are a harpy."

"I know." Rijal sank to her knees, her throwing star falling from her limp fingers. "But…he was only twenty-eight. Time would have told."

"You were a battle ally to him, nothing more!" Jarqual dropped to her knees in front of her sister. "Look at me! You are Rijal, Queen of the harpies. You wear the pentangle necklace from our home world! You have lived for over two hundred years, and have ruled the harpies for over a hundred. You lead when others will only follow, Rijal!" She took her sister's shoulders and shook, forcing Rijal to look at her. "You must let go. Edmund is gone, and as you keep saying – we'll never know now what might have been. It will be less painful to just let it go, let him go."

"I can't." Rijal shook her head and rose to her feet, turning her back to Jarqual. "The memories are all I have of him."

"Then you will die for your foolishness!" Jarqual snapped, her shallow well of patience dried up. "You must stop acting like a pathetic, weak, _compassionate_ human and lead us as a harpy Queen should!"

"And what would you have me do, sister?" Rijal spun, her eyes searching Jarqual's. "Plunge Narnia into a war that will render it destroyed? No! That is not the way!"

"It is _our_ way!" Jarqual could not stop the roar of frustration and anger leaking into her voice. "We need war! We live off it!"

"We can live off each other." Rijal shook her head pleadingly.

"We were kept from the last great battle." Jarqual's tone lowered dangerously. "Because Jadis was too proud to accept our allegiance. These invaders could spark the greatest battle since the Witch's defeat!"

"No." Rijal's face hardened. "Scout. Watch carefully. Nothing more. Do you understand me, Jarqual?" She had transformed into the Queen in a matter of seconds, and now it was her turn to peer into Jarqual's eyes with commanding sternness.

"Yes, my Queen." Jarqual knelt, lowering her eyes respectfully, and then leapt up and back, her eyes bright. She nodded once, then practically ripped the door off its hinges in her excitement. "My pack!" Rijal heard her yell. "Follow me!" There were roars of delight and glee, then the door swung shut, closing off the sounds.

Rijal fell once more to the ground, then picked up her throwing star and crawled over to her den, a mishmash of blankets and furs piled atop a soft, worn mattress. She burrowed her way into it and revealed the secret that had kept her alive for as long as she had without feeding off the joy of the fight.

She began to cry.

Harpies did not have tear ducts, and as a rule, found nothing worth crying over anyway. But it had not been the tears that had saved Rijal from starvation.

She had been a normal harpy in the jungles, fighting side-by-side with her sister, Jarqual, and the other members of their pack with vicious joy, killing recklessly. But just after she and Jarqual had left the jungles and won their weapons, there was talk of war, and of Aslan's return.

Rijal had gone out alone when the harpies felt the earth starting to thaw. She had followed the White Witch as she followed the son of Adam and the daughters of Eve as the beavers helped them to flee across the frozen river, which, by the time Jadis had arrived, was no longer frozen.

Rijal had stayed hidden even from the wolves, who were close to the harpies in pack attitude, but had pledged their loyalty to Jadis. The harpies had offered, but Jadis refused them when she discovered that they were loyal to Aslan before all others.

She had noticed a second head in the Witch's sledge, shorter, and dark haired, much like their own men-folk. Rijal knew that this was the younger son of Adam, who had betrayed his siblings because of the spell the Witch had cast upon him. The harpies knew more than most because all of this had taken place in the western woods – their home. They knew everything that happened there.

It wasn't long before the snow ran out, and the Witch was forced to stop. Rijal had almost giggled at Jadis' expression as she surveyed the melted waterfall, now uncrossable. The boy had stood next to her, a slight smile on his lips.

Rijal had been entranced. To her eyes, the boy was fully fledged, like her. She couldn't pull her eyes away – there was something about him that drew her. She wanted to help him.

"Your Majesty."

The Witch and the boy turned as six wolves emerged from the trees, one of them carrying a fox in his jaws.

"We found the traitor." The beta wolf told her respectfully. "He was rallying your enemies in the Shuddering Woods." The alpha tossed the yelping fox to the ground at the Witch's feet.

"Ah." Rijal could tell from Jadis' tone that she was pleased. "Nice of you to drop in. You were so helpful to my wolves last night."

Jarqual had told Rijal that a fox had given the wolves false information to lead them away from the son of Adam and the daughters of Eve. This must be the same fox. Rijal felt adrenaline pump into her veins. The fox was not going to leave this waterfall alive.

"Perhaps you can help me now." Jadis' voice was thick with implications. Rijal slipped silently through the trees to get a better view. In seconds she was watching from the branches of a beech, closest to the dark-haired son of Adam.

"Forgive me, your Majesty." The fox bowed his head.

The Witch almost rolled her eyes. "Don't waste my time with flattery – "

"Not to seem rude." The fox's eyes danced. "But I wasn't actually talking to you." He looked at the son of Adam. Jadis' eyes flashed dangerously, and she glared down at the boy, who looked anxiously and slightly disbelievingly up at her, then at the fox.

Jadis strode forward, twirling her wand and giving the son of Adam a testing look before pointing it unhesitatingly at the poor fox. "Where are the humans headed?"

The fox took a step back, his expression resigned. Rijal had seen that look on the faces of Narnians before they died before. The boy looked back and forth between the fox and the Witch, his expression hesitant, but desperate.

Jadis' expression didn't change as she raised her wand high. The fox steeled himself –

"Wait!" The boy ran in front of the fox, his eyes pleading. "No! Don't." Jadis lowered her wand. Rijal knew that she had known the boy would throw himself in front of the fox. That was the testing look she had given him. "The beavers said something about the stone table." He said hurriedly. "And that Aslan had an army there."

"An army?" The Witch concealed her satisfaction and looked at the fox. The boy turned his head also. The fox just sighed and shook his head, letting his tail droop. "Thank you Edmund." The Witch said softly, kindly as the boy stepped back, only now realising the gravity of what he had revealed. "I'm glad this creature got to see some honesty." Her voice was understanding, wise, then changed abruptly as she lunged forward with her wand. "Before he died."

"No!" The boy cried as the fox yelped his last, pulling up a paw in a futile attempt to save himself to no avail as he turned into dark grey stone.

The Witch pulled back her wand with a flourish, and her eyes darkened as they searched the boy's face. Finding his expression of horror and disbelief not to her liking, she backhanded him angrily. Rijal raised an eyebrow. It was quite a pathetic slap, as slaps went, but then she saw the boy's hand finger his cheek and realised that the Witch had put some ice into it for extra sting.

"Think about who's side you're on, Edmund." Jadis said coolly, taking his shoulder and making him look at her. "Mine," She grabbed his face in her hand and turned it sharply towards the stone fox. "Or theirs." She released him and turned her attention to the wolves, leaving him to stare in shame and distress at the fox, dead and cold, an expression of pain still on his face. His breathing was shallow, and Rijal realised he was holding back tears. A darker part of her wished he would cry – she was curious as to what it would look like.

"Go on ahead." The Witch ordered the wolves. "Gather the faithful. If it's a war Aslan wants," Her wand hummed as it flicked up and killed a butterfly that had been fluttering near her head. "It's a war he shall get."

The wolves growled and disappeared into the trees. "And as for you," The Witch turned her head to stare down at the boy with cruel, icy eyes. "I trust that from now on, you will know your place."

The boy's face twisted as he looked between the Witch and the stone fox, then hung his head and said nothing. Jadis made a small sound of satisfaction. "Ginarrbrik!" She yelled suddenly. "Prepare the cargo as I ordered."

The bearded dwarf chuckled darkly as he emerged from the trees. "Your sledge is ready, my Queen."

"Good." The Witch swept off, leaving the boy and the dwarf alone.

The dwarf saw the son of Adam staring sorrowfully at the fox and sniggered. "He got what he deserved." The boy's head snapped up, his eyes blazing. "And so will you." The dwarf cracked his whip as the boy took an angry step forward and tripped as the tip wrapped around his ankle and tugged, sending him face-first into the snowy grass.

He spluttered and pushed his torso up with his palms as the dwarf circled nearer, spite written in every line of his face. He suddenly yelled out harshly and kicked the boy in the face with his pointed toe.

Rijal frowned as the son of Adam cried out and rolled away, bringing a hand up to the new cut next to his left eye. She was under orders not to reveal herself, yet she wanted nothing more than to kill the dwarf right now. Her hand drifted close to her throwing stars, though she knew she could no more throw them than take her own life.

"Oh but can't you fight?" The dwarf bent down to glare into the son of Adam's face. "Your Majesty?" He sniggered and hit the boy's face with the handle of his whip. Rijal could tell that it would bruise his left cheek within the hour. The boy tried to get up, but a sharp kick from the dwarf in his side made him gasp and fall again. The dwarf snickered and pulled a rag from his pocket, sitting on top of the boy to keep him still and tying it tightly. He then shifted backwards as the boy grunted through his gag and tried to roll.

The dwarf slapped the back of the boy's head in an attempt to make him lie still. When he continued to flail around, the dwarf growled and yanked the boy's arms up, making him grunt. The dwarf held the boy's thin wrists in one grubby hand while he pulled a length of rope from somewhere on his person with his other and tied the son of Adam's hands together tightly.

He chuckled cruelly as he got up, watching the boy writhe around in the freezing wet grass as he tried to rise to his feet. Rijal snarled silently.

Finally the boy managed to rise to his knees, and then to his feet. The dwarf moved swiftly behind him and kicked him in the back of the knees, making him fall down again. The dwarf laughed hysterically as Rijal's sharp ears caught the sound of the boy choking, trying not to cry. She bristled and her snarl grew fiercer, her hand gripping the throwing star so hard she was in danger of losing her fingers.

"Ginarrbrik!" The Witch shouted through the trees. Her tone of voice suggested that the dwarf moved quickly or else. The dwarf's expression shifted from humour to fear, and he yanked the boy upright and tugged him backwards in the direction of the Witch's sledge.

Rijal calmed down slowly, not daring to move from her position in the tree in case she lost control. As she did, she realised that something had changed within her, something incredibly vital and important to her core. She frowned, not understanding.

It was only when she visited the pits later that night that she realised, and the realisation sent her fleeing from the harpies underground tunnels and up into the cold night air, up a tall pine tree to cling to its highest branch and swing dangerously in the breeze.

She no longer fed off the glory of the fight.

Instead, she was feeding off something else…something she had not yet identified…

She almost fell out of the tree as she realised that she was feeding off the feeling she had felt when she had first laid eyes on the son of Adam by the great waterfall. Almost as soon as she realised what the feeling was, an explosive wave of new feelings and emotions rolled into her with the force of a great wave.

She didn't even scream as the wave sent her tumbling backwards off the top of the pine, her arms wind milling at the air in a futile attempt to slow herself down. It didn't help. She fell for almost two entire seconds before her back hit the ground with a bone-breaking thud.

When she woke, she was no longer a true harpy.

Edmund, his name had been, she remembered it now. Edmund, Edmund. A resolve of steel anchored itself deep in her core, along with a new feeling for this Edmund. A feeling that burned with the intensity of the First Flame, whose ever-burning children lit the halls of the harpy tunnels. She was not sure what the feeling was exactly, but she knew that it could not be denied – it was so strong it almost hurt.

xXx

Jarqual looked dispassionately down at her sister, curled up in her blankets and furs. No other harpy would recognise tear-marks when they saw them, especially not on another harpy, but Jarqual knew all Rijal's secrets, including the secret of what she fed off. Rijal was the only harpy in known existence who could survive alone indefinitely – her love for the human king, Edmund, was ever-burning, though Jarqual wondered if it would burn her up from the inside before it sustained her long enough to live a full life.

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_Thoughts? Reviews are much appreciated, but flames are not._


	2. A New Queen

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Wow! Can't believe the first chapter got such nice a reception! Special thanks to elektrum, 1m4n, rmiller92, NaylaS2 and Benbulben95. You guys rock! (Even if, you know, the faves were accidental 'cos I find myself faving stories I just wanted to review 'cos they've moved the review button to the bottom of the page, and when you click the 'go' button now, it faves it instead.) So yeah. :D

**DISCLAIMED **_(Now isn't that so much easier to write?)_

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"The Telmarine forces have settled between Glasswater Creek and the River Rush." Jarqual informed Rijal some weeks later. "They are building a castle, and their soldiers are roaming through the forests, killing every Narnian they can find. They want to make them extinct, or so it is said." She peered into Rijal's eyes. "This cannot go on. There is talk of a faun named Gengris who is rallying the Narnians to battle. We must act now."

She stood up, leaving Rijal sat on the floor. "You cannot stop this, Rijal. It is my duty to spread this news, and your people will expect you to send out an envoy to secure our place in both armies if we can, though I suspect we will only be able to secure our place in the Narnian army – the Telmarines seem…" She smirked. "Objective to any creatures other than themselves and dumb beasts."

Rijal didn't move, and the smirk slid quickly from Jarqual's face to be replaced with a scowl. "Move carefully, sister. It's war we want, and one way or another, it's war we'll get." She swept from the chamber and strode through the empty hall, past the dirt stage and down the main tunnel, making for the pits. She needed to vent some energy.

xXx

Jarqual caught the air of excitement mingled with interest that swept through the tunnels when a meeting was being called. She snarl-grinned and leapt out of the pit to run through the tunnels towards the hall. Others who were in her way moved quickly and she made the journey in record time.

She took her usual place next to the highest ranking members of the court and sat on the dirt floor with them, her stance casual and relaxed. One leg was bent in the cross-legged position while the other stood up over it, the heel resting against the other ankle. She rested one arm on top of the leg that was raised and leant back, supporting her weight with the other. It was the typical harpy resting position.

Rijal, who was up on the stage, nodded a greeting, the pentangle necklace flashing in the torchlight. Harpies were not Narnian by creation, but had slipped through from another world when it had reached its end with the dominant species from that world hunting them – the banshees. They too had escaped their home world's destruction, and now inhabited the Lantern Wastes.

Whereas the banshees had ruled over the home world and had hunted the harpies viciously, trying to drive them to extinction, in Narnia, their ethereal forms were almost powerless but for their scream, a sound which could kill almost anything.

Luckily, the banshees were severely depleted in numbers, and spent their time bickering amongst themselves and killing each other to climb up their absurd social ladder. Banshees scornfully regarded the harpies as savages, and the harpies scoffed and said that the banshees were all backstabbing snobs.

Each species had one object from the home world. No one knew what the banshees had, but the harpies had the pentangle necklace, their version of a crown. Only the King or Queen could wear the pentangle necklace, as it was the most important thing the harpies owned. The five-pointed silver star had been mined from the moonsilver lines that only harpies could find under the surface of the home world.

Rijal lifted her hands, quelling the mutterings and growls. "You have all heard that the Narnians are rallying for battle with the Telmarines at the Stone Table." The court roared and grinned. Rijal snarled to quiet them. "We will not be joining them."

Dirt fell from the ceiling at the volume of the furious roars, snarls and shrieks that ensued from Rijal's statement. Jarqual leapt to her feet with the rest of the court. "You go too far, sister!" Her face was an unrecognisable mask of rage and her hands grabbed the hilts of her knives.

Rijal's expression was unyielding. "I will not endanger Narnia by allowing the harpies to participate in this war. It is my command as Queen."

Jarqual screamed in fury and leapt up onto the stage. "Then you shall no longer be Queen!" She pulled her knives from her belt and let loose a guttural snarl not even a wolf could match.

The atmosphere grew electric as adrenaline surged into the court and they shouted encouragement to Jarqual as they realised what she was going to do.

"Rijal, Queen of the harpies and keeper of the moonsilver pentangle, I challenge you!" She snarl-grinned and crouched slightly, holding her knives in her own personal attack position – left arm bent into the body, knife pointing right, ready to slice, right arm curved up and knife pointing forward, ready to strike. The crowd roared in excitement.

Rijal's shoulders slumped in resignment, but she did not reach for her throwing stars. Jarqual snarled at the implied insult and her right arm lunged forward, the knife jabbing at Rijal's head. At the last moment, she swerved away, ducking slightly, and Jarqual snarl-grinned as the crowd roared.

She attacked ferociously, and after a few half-hearted dodges, Rijal just let her slice deep cuts into her skin. Jarqual danced on her toes angrily. "Fight, sister!" She hissed as she lunged close to slice into Rijal's arm. "I will not kill you when you are unarmed and dishonour your name."

"I have dishonoured my own name already." Rijal murmured, staring at the floor.

"But your place in the afterlife will be jeopardised if you do not fight!"

"So be it." Rijal closed her eyes. "I don't care."

"I do!" Jarqual snarled. "You will fight!"

"No." Rijal said listlessly. "No."

"Very well." Jarqual stepped back and stood very still, her bloodied knives hanging from her fingers, ready to snap up at a moment's notice. "You leave me no choice, sister." She looked around at the court. "We are harpies?"

They roared assent.

"Do we have secrets?"

They screamed denial. Jarqual's eyes turned dangerously to fix on Rijal.

"Our Queen never visits the pits, never fights anyone." The crowd turned still and silent, enthralled. Rijal looked up, her eyes narrowed, not yet believing that Jarqual would go this far into goading her to fight. "She never feeds like we do." Jarqual stared at Rijal, daring her to stop her. "And now I'll tell you why." Rijal didn't move, and Jarqual continued.

"She changed more than a hundred years ago into something different than a true harpy. She changed when spring came for the first time in a hundred years. When she saw a certain son of Adam in the woods, a traitor to his own siblings." The crowd shifted, reminding itself. The son of Adam who had betrayed his siblings to the White Witch – "She saw King Edmund, before he was a king."

"Stop it." Rijal murmured, almost too quiet for anyone to hear. Jarqual smiled slightly, pleased that Rijal had reacted.

"And she did something that should be impossible for harpies." Jarqual went on, pausing for effect. "She fell in love."

The crowd yelled in disbelief. "Impossible!" A male harpy shouted, and others cried their agreement.

"What do you think she feeds off?" Jarqual shouted, and the crowd fell silent. She turned to glare at Rijal. "She lives off her love for the old King of Narnia. Her love for Edmund. She told him all our secrets, pledged her loyalty to him first when the other creatures in the western woods would not, and she is still trying to live by vows a hundred years dead by not endangering Narnia." She swung her right knife up to point at Rijal, and then flicked it up, a clear challenge.

"Enough." Rijal said softly.

"I'm not done." Jarqual shook her head cruelly, steeling herself for the words she knew she had to say in order to force her sister to fight and thus secure her place in the afterlife. "The worst thing is that my sister still does not believe her beloved Edmund is dead, though many decades have passed since they abandoned Narnia. She believes that one day, Edmund will ride out of the trees and fall at her feet," Rijal's hands clenched into fists, "And will tell her he loves her just as she loves him!" She laughed, and the crowd laughed with her, scoffing and mocking their Queen.

"Nnyaah!" Rijal's hand wrenched up and Jarqual barely dodged her throwing star as it carved the air where her head had just been. Jarqual smiled darkly as she saw that Rijal's eyes were burning, and her other hand was already reaching for another star.

Now the battle would truly begin.

Jarqual deflected a star with her daggers and both sisters lunged at each other, roaring furiously. Throwing stars clashed with knives and Rijal and Jarqual were inches away as they pushed against each other's weapons as hard as they could, testing each other's strength.

Jarqual stepped backwards and sideways suddenly, making Rijal stumble. "Out of practise, sister?" Jarqual crowed, trying to keep her angry. "Your love for the human sustaining you? Or are you getting tired?"

Rijal snarled ferociously, a touch of her fearsome self before she changed shining through, and leapt forward, her wrists flicking throwing stars at Jarqual's feet and at a point above her head, meaning that if she jumped to avoid the lower star, she'd get brained.

Jarqual jumped up and her right knife deflected the higher throwing star easily, sending it spinning into the crowd. She snarled triumphantly and hid her hands behind her back, transferring her right knife to her left hand so she held a double ended dagger. She somersaulted forward and landed right in front of Rijal.

The Queen didn't have time to move as Jarqual's right fist powered into her jaw, sending her stumbling backwards, and Jarqual's left hand darted forward, the double ended dagger spiralling to slice, then stab Rijal's stomach. She roared in pain and staggered further back, her hand pressed to the deep wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood that was rapidly staining her corset.

Jarqual flipped down to the ground and balanced her body with her hands as she swept Rijal's feet from under her with her left leg. The Queen grunted painfully as she landed with a thud on her back. Jarqual leapt to her feet and knelt on one knee next to her sister's prone body, her arms angling in her attack position.

"You will die with honour now, sister." She said softly, smiling a smile so small only Rijal could see it. "Put up a fight. For his sake, so you will meet him in the afterlife."

"He is not dead!" Rijal cried, her right arm swinging up and around, her last throwing star clutched tight in her fingers. Jarqual's left knife sliced it away before it came near, making Rijal roar painfully.

"Goodbye, sister." Jarqual murmured. Then her knives flashed forward and ended it. Rijal was dead. Jarqual flicked her right knife to her left hand, and carefully undid the clasp to the pentangle necklace, holding it up for all to see.

"Harpies! Who is your Queen?"

"Jarqual!" They roared. "Jarqual!"

She stood up and fastened the necklace around her own neck, her sister's blood smearing on her own pale collarbone. She then completed the ritual that was her right as the old Queen's sibling – she held her right dagger high, then brought it down slowly, licking the blood from the blade. Only siblings were allowed to do this, as it was their right alone to take in the remnants of their brother's or sister's spirit in their lifeblood.

"As Queen," She shouted, making the court fall silent. "My first action will be to take my pack and go to the faun Gengris to secure our place in the war against the Telmarines." She grinned as the court roared their support. "We leave at moonrise!"

* * *

_Sorry it's so short - it's the shortest chapter, honest. Reviews are met with much love and appreciation._


	3. Preparation and Treachery

_Much love to elektrum, Benbulben95, 1m4n and Aiasila. To the rest of you who read without reviewing...well...cheers for reading. :D_

**DISCLAIMED**

* * *

"Sir."

Gengris looked up from a map to see a subordinate faun addressing him from the entrance to his tent. "Yes?"

"The harpy Queen has arrived."

Gengris smiled. "I wondered if they would come. I thought that their Queen was a peace-lover?"

"They have a new Queen now, sir." The faun smiled slightly. "The old Queen's sister, I believe."

Gengris raised his eyebrows. "Indeed. Show her in."

"Yes sir." The faun bowed his head and came back a moment later escorting a harpy woman. Her flame coloured hair was spiked out in harpy battle style, and the darkness around her eyes nearly bridged her nose but for a gap about a centimetre wide. She bowed her head to Gengris and looked him over with narrowed eyes.

"I am Jarqual, Queen of the harpies." To him, her voice was slightly accented, almost like the Telmarines. Rumour had it that the harpies had originally come from another world and spoke their own language to each other. Her accent was proof of this. She cocked her head slightly as if she could hear what he was thinking. He nodded for her to continue. "We come to offer our allegiance in your war against the Telmarines."

"Are there any harpies allied with the Telmarines?" Gengris asked cautiously.

Jarqual smirked. "We approached them early this morning, but it seems that they are adverse to our Narnian appearance. All the harpies will fight with you, if you accept our offer."

"I accept gladly." Gengris nodded, his dark brown curls bouncing. "But first…is it true that you are not Narnian at all? That you are from another world, like the White Witch?"

Jarqual nodded. "It is true. The banshees of the Lantern Wastes are also from our old home world, but they will not aid you in this war."

"The banshees?" Gengris was taken aback for a moment, then his expression darkened. "They do nothing of worth anyway."

Jarqual laughed. "Indeed. I will send a messenger back to the western woods to tell the rest of my harpies to come here."

"How many of you will come?" Gengris asked eagerly.

She pursed her lips. "Including our young, but excluding any pregnant females…around three hundred and fifty. All strong and all exceptional fighters." She smiled proudly.

"Three hundred and fifty…" Gengris turned away to pour over his map. "With that number of experienced fighters we don't need to spread the centaurs so thin, which means that they could come together to form a frontal attack party of about fifty, with the right party of fauns and satyrs supporting their backs…perfect." He smiled triumphantly. "How soon will they get here?"

"Within two days." Jarqual answered promptly. "How many Telmarines soldiers are there?"

"You didn't see any this morning?" Gengris asked, surprised.

"We were not allowed close enough." Jarqual replied irritably. "They are surprisingly alert for intruders."

"That's because of the foxes' and the gryphons' early raids." Gengris grinned. "Just to keep them on their toes." He cleared his throat. "From the gryphons' reports, we can assume there to be around five hundred of them, and a hundred or so more acting as cavalry."

"Six hundred." Jarqual murmured, nodding thoughtfully. "What are our numbers?"

"Around a hundred centaurs, seventy or so fauns, around thirty gryphons, fifty satyrs, eighty dwarves and about a hundred talking beasts. Four hundred and thirty in total."

"Rounding it up to around seven hundred and eighty." Jarqual smirked. "We outnumber them."

"It will still be close." Gengris said worriedly, turning back to the map. "Many of the talking beasts have never fought in battle, as is the same with the satyrs. The centaurs are well-trained with their weapons, but at least half of the fauns have never held a sword before in their lives. There are no dwarves who cannot handle a blade."

"So we have only the centaurs, the dwarves half the fauns and my harpies." Jarqual frowned. "Only five hundred and sixty-five, or around that number. Add the gryphons and about twenty talking beasts and the number goes up to six hundred and fifteen. Against six hundred trained human soldiers, that is not enough." She looked hard at Gengris. "Have you extended an offer of allegiance to the minotaurs, or the wolves?"

Gengris' expression twisted in anger and distrust. "They are our enemies!"

"I do not mean to interfere." Jarqual held up her hands. "Whether you win or lose is of no importance to us."

"What?" Gengris looked surprised. "Then why did you come?"

"To fight." Jarqual smirked, and turned to leave. "Why else would we even care?"

xXx

By dawn on the third day, the harpies had gathered at the Stone Table camp, and were stirring themselves up for battle. Their whoops and roars of excitement could be heard across the entire encampment as they sparred to let off steam and feed themselves up.

Jarqual fought with the members of her pack – Halgra, Valgrak, Nyzin and Lijal. Halgra and Lijal were the two females and Valgrak and Nyzin were the males. Lijal and Valgrak were twins, common among harpies. Jarqual laughed that evening as Halgra flipped backwards over and over and over, catching Nyzin's attention. The thrill of the upcoming battle was exciting her harpies to the point when some of the males and females were giving off breeding signals and retreating to the trees to release their pent up excitement.

Halgra changed direction and flipped forward, stopping right in front of Nyzin. He took the hint and kissed her deeply, pulling her down onto his lap. Valgrak bellowed with laughter and shook his ebony hair out of his eyes, the tattooed dots and stripes on his cheekbones glowing black in the firelight.

Harpy females had their eyes and part of their noses rimmed with black in battle style almost from the day they could hold a stick of charcoal while the males tattooed each other's cheeks and foreheads in the tribal patterns of the old jungle packs. There was of course, much variation, and some females put their charcoal sticks to other uses by sketching elaborate swirls and spikes on their skin, usually on their face, but sometimes all over their bodies. The males did the same but with permanent tattoos instead of temporary charcoal.

Catcalls and territorial snarls from some harpies from campfires further away alerted Jarqual to the faun picking his way fearfully through the packs of harpies before she saw him. Standing up, she snarled for the harpies to shut up, which they did with exception of a few mutterings and growls in the backs of throats.

"What do you want?" She jerked her head to the faun, who glanced around nervously at the harpies, most of whom were on their feet and crouched, ready to pounce.

"Ah…Gengris sent me to inform you of our plans."

"Well tell me then." She did not smile.

"Erm…" He gulped audibly. "Your harpies w-will split into three parts and spread around to circle the Telmarines' encampment at dawn. We attack on the s-signal."

"Which is?" Jarqual prompted as he turned to leave.

"O-oh." He blushed. "A gryphon will fly overhead and lead you in the right direction."

"Very well." She jerked her head again, and the crowd of harpies that had blocked the faun's retreat parted reluctantly to allow him through. One of them growled loudly and snapped at him, and the harpies roared with laughter as the poor faun yelped and took off, running for his life.

Jarqual permitted herself a chuckle and turned back to her fire to see that Nyzin and Halgra had sneaked away into the trees. Rolling her eyes she sat down and looked sternly at Lijal and Valgrak. "Are you two going to find partners, run off and rut in a ditch somewhere?"

They laughed and assured her that that wouldn't happen, and the three pack mates settled down for the night.

xXx

But during that night, events took an entirely different turn.

Two hundred and fifty Telmarine soldiers launched a surprise attack on the Narnian camp in the dead hours of the morning, between midnight and dawn, catching the Narnians unarmed and sleepy. It was slaughter as they made short work of the fauns and satyrs.

The harpies were alerted by the screams of the dying satyrs as the ones still alive fled towards the centaurs and dwarves, who by now were armed and ready for battle. The gryphons and harpies attacked together, the gryphons spiralling with deceptive grace from the sky to grab Telmarine soldiers, fly up high and then drop them to splatter on the field.

The harpies launched themselves into the fray with roars of delight. They were short compared to the humans and some Telmarines made the fatal mistake of thinking of them as children, as they did look like human teenagers, albeit handsome ones with only pale skin and black or red hair.

Jarqual climbed on top of a boulder and took a moment to survey the battle field. The tide was turning, and the harpies and centaurs were ripping into the Telmarine ranks with brutal force. A group of five Telmarines appeared out of the darkness, heading for her boulder, and Jarqual grinned, preparing for her attack.

She pulled her elbows in close to her body and angled her knives outwards, then launched herself off the boulder in a lightning quick spin. She tore into the group of Telmarines, slicing two arms and one throat. She came to a halt in their centre, and smiled wickedly. The odds were not in her favour as they surrounded her. Just how she liked it.

One soldier lunged forward with his sword – she parried easily and kicked him back with a heel to his stomach. Another came from behind and she ducked as he made a grab for her, then shuffled backwards quickly, catching him by surprise and spinning around his body to bury her knife in his back. She ducked suddenly, sensing a sword slice from another Telmarine, and the fellow decapitated his own comrade. Jarqual laughed.

The three remaining soldiers were angry now. Two shifted in front of her and one fell in behind, like wolves circling a deer. But Jarqual knew about wolves.

She spun backwards, just avoiding a swipe from a dagger and kicked the man's legs from under him, then ducked a sword thrust from one of the others and rolled away into the legs of the remaining soldier. Two on the ground.

She flicked her right knife to her toes and jumped into a handstand, stabbing the soldier on his feet in his eyes. He died screaming, and Jarqual roared at him triumphantly as she got back on her feet.

The other two soldiers were up now, and they came at her together. She almost rolled her eyes and she sidestepped out of the way and slashed the first's side to make him fall to the ground. The second spun to face her and brought his sword down with a cry of anger. She crossed her blades and caught his, twisting it out of his hands and flinging it away. Then she sliced his wrists as he tried to bring them down on her head and stabbed him in his gut, wrenching her blade upwards to end his life.

The soldier whose side she had slashed had just managed to crawl to the sword she had flung away when her bare foot came down on it, pinning it to the blood-sodden earth. She crouched down to smile in his face before cutting his throat and letting his blood spurt onto the grass at her feet.

She looked up to find the harpies and centaurs killing the last few Telmarines who were fleeing the field in true human fashion. She rolled her eyes. Cowards.

Letting loose a guttural roar, she called her harpies to her. When they surrounded her, she frowned. "Separate into your packs so I can see how many we've lost."

The resulting death count came in at around a hundred, and there were forty-eight injured. Jarqual nodded. "Separate the injured into those who would be able to fight again and those who are severely disabled. I will examine the latter group myself."

When her orders had been carried out, there were fifteen harpies laid out on the ground before her. She turned her head away slightly. "Bring the ferthweed." Ferthweed was a foul-smelling herb that grew only in the western woods and could bring even those who were deeply unconscious around.

Jarqual knelt by the first harpy, a female with blood colouring her already flame-red hair. The charcoal band she had painted across her forehead was smudged, and one of her legs was missing below the shin. Her left wrist was hanging by a few bloodied strands of muscle and skin. She moaned as she came around, and her eyelids fluttered weakly as her eyes focused blearily on Jarqual.

"My Queen…"

"Your left leg is useless, as is your left hand." Jarqual told her in a clear voice. "Will you choose life or death?"

"Will I fight again?" The female asked urgently, her good hand clutching at the earth.

"No." Jarqual shook her head.

"Will my death be honourable?" The female was fading, Jarqual could see it in the way her fingers could no longer clench at the clods of soil.

"I will end your life myself." Jarqual promised.

"Then I choose death." The female whispered. She smiled as Jarqual gently cut her throat and looked around.

"Does she have any siblings?"

"Me, my Queen." A bloodied male stepped forward, his red hair falling into his face. Jarqual held out her blade and he ran his tongue up it gently. "Thank you, my Queen."

Jarqual nodded and moved on to the next in line, only a child, her face screwed up with the effort of staying conscious. She too chose to die. As did the next, a male with exquisite tribal tattoos decorating his face and neck. Jarqual knew that when told they could never fight again, they would all choose death, and to die by the blade of their Queen was the highest honour they could receive at this point.

When she was done, the centaur leader, who had been waiting respectfully, walked up to her.

"Queen Jarqual."

"General Agorix." She nodded, rising to her feet after wiping her blade as clean as it could get on a bloody patch of grass.

"Gengris is dead." The dark-skinned centaur said bluntly. "And the total numbers of our forces have been reduced to two hundred and forty living. What are your losses?"

"There are still two hundred of us in good fighting condition." Jarqual smiled grimly. "At least now we are well fed."

Agorix nodded. "At least a hundred of us are too injured to fight, bringing our numbers down to around three hundred and forty."

"Against their army." Jarqual shook her head. "It is far too close, and those Telmarines are well-rested and fighting fit, while we are weary and bloodied. Not good odds."

The centaur nodded just as a gryphon's distinctive mewl sounded overhead. They looked up to see one of the golden creatures swoop down and land next to them. Jarqual sniffed, identifying it as a female.

"Terrible news!" She gasped. "The Telmarine forces have split. Two hundred and fifty came here, a hundred stayed behind at their camp to protect their women and children, but the other two hundred and fifty, including a hundred horsemen, are making their way to Cair Paravel! And they have huge planks and beams of wood with them!"

"Siege weapons?" Agorix wondered.

"Catapults." Jarqual spat.

"They must have been on the move since sunset yesterday." The gryphon realised.

"Why didn't we see them?" Agorix demanded.

"They did not go through the woods or along the river." Her claws carved deep ridges into the bloody ground. "They are hugging the coastline."

"Those snakes." Agorix snarled. "We must stop them! How far are they?" He asked the gryphon.

"Only an hour's march, General." She answered, agonised. "We'll never make it."

"We can warn them." Agorix said firmly. "Gryphons are the fastest flyers aren't they? Faster than a centaur on the ground?"

"Indeed, General." She nodded. "I'll go now, and warn the steward of the impending attack."

"And what will he do about it?" Jarqual rolled her eyes. "Arm himself and stand on the battlements with the royal guard, who are only fifty or so strong? And what of the others in Cair Paravel? The servants, women and children? Animals? Don't warn the steward until it is too late to fight back."

"Are you mad?" Agorix stared at her angrily. "Too late?"

"Yes." Jarqual nodded. "The steward was a soldier. He will want to fight. But then what? Fifty against two hundred and fifty? It will be slaughter. And all for nothing when they are dead and the Telmarines destroy the castle and the inhabitants with it. They must escape, not fight."

Agorix took a deep breath. Now that Gengris was dead, he was officially in charge – this decision ultimately rested on his shoulders. Finally he nodded. "So be it." He turned to the gryphon. "Go, but do not warn the steward until it is too late to fight, and he must see logic. If he still insists on wasting his life, then tell those who are not with him to flee northwest to Owlwood. They will be safe there."

"Yes General." The gryphon nodded and jumped up, her claws seeming to grab the air and pull her upwards as her powerful wing beats made Jarqual's and Agorix's hair lash around their heads.

"Even so." Agorix said after she had gone. "We can still try to stop them."

"We will never reach Cair Paravel in time to stop the siege." Jarqual told him.

"Yes, but we may reach them in time to black off their retreat to their camp and kill them then. If we do it well…"

"General." Jarqual interrupted him and nodded to a dwarf behind him.

"Thornstick." Agorix nodded a greeting to the dwarf leader, whose shifty eyes alerted Jarqual to something wrong before he spoke.

"General Agorix." Thornstick nodded. "I have come to inform you that the dwarves will have no further part in this war."

Agorix's eyes practically spat flames. "Traitors."

"Survivors." The dwarf corrected. "You may like the idea of dying in battle, but we certainly don't. Goodbye." He disappeared into the darkness.

Jarqual looked up at Agorix. "Will the others leave as well?"

"Never." The centaur shook his head proudly. "Ever have the fauns and satyrs been loyal subjects of Aslan, and the talking beasts are as steadfast as centaurs. And what of you?" He turned his eyes on her shrewdly. "Will you stay with us?"

"There's no chance of a battle back west." Jarqual bared her teeth in a savage grin. "We're with you all the way."

"Then we set off now." Agorix shouted, rearing and wheeling around on his hind legs. "Together! Ready yourselves – we go to Cair Paravel!"

"Queen?" Lijal said quietly at Jarqual's shoulder. "Where do our numbers stand without the dwarves?"

"Two hundred and ninety."

"Against?"

"Two hundred and fifty."

"Better odds than they were."

"Hmm." Jarqual nodded distractedly, then turned to Lijal. "Come on. Let's get going."

Lijal's eyes glowed and Valgrak, Nyzin and Halgra came up around her, their teeth bared in grins of excitement. Jarqual caught some of it and let it fill her up till she grinned too.

Lifting her head to the sky, which was lightened as dawn approached, she opened her mouth and let her roar draw the harpies into a frenzy. The Telmarines would not know what had hit them!

* * *

_Longer - you like? If I've screwed up on the numbers, please tell me. I keep thinking I've missed something and given the wrong number of Telmarines or something...Please review!_


	4. Cair Paravel's Destruction

_Many thanks to elektrum and 1m4n, and Sara Wolfe. My first flame. I'm actually in a mood to print and frame it, strange as that seems. ^^_

**DISCLAIMED**

* * *

The gryphon screamed with fury, her wings beating the air as she faced the steward of Cair Paravel. "You must flee, while there is still time! The Telmarines are assembling their catapults right now, and you have unarmed, vulnerable women and children in here! You cannot sacrifice their lives for the sake of your stubbornness!"

"You said the army from the Stone Table was coming." The faun frowned.

"They will not be in time!" The gryphon hissed. "Fool! Either way, Cair Paravel is lost! You must abandon it!"

"Never." The steward shook his head. "It is my duty."

"Then this castle will be your grave." The gryphon scorned, turning and galloping out. She had to warn the ones who could not fight.

As she pulled herself up on the wind, she looked down, past Cair Paravel to the army of Telmarines on the plain below. Two of the six catapults were completed. She didn't have much time. Wheeling on the breeze, she spiralled down to swoop above the walkways and paths of the beautiful castle.

Below her, the inhabitants of Cair Paravel went on in their normal lives, secure in the false knowledge that their fortress was invincible, as if crafted by Aslan himself. Security was ignorance, the gryphon remembered her mother telling her sternly in the nest. If you are cocky, there is something you don't know.

The people of Cair Paravel didn't know that their lives were in grave danger.

"Flee!" She cried. "All of you! The Telmarines are here! You must get out while you can! You only have minutes left! Flee to Owlwood! Flee!"

The panic was predictable. Women and children screamed and the men and older children ran to the towers and to the walls to see if she was right. Once they saw that she was, they ran to their mothers, siblings and wives, who were cowering in their homes.

"Go now!" The gryphon screamed. Two more catapults were up and functional. "Take only what you need. Hurry!" The urgency in her cries spurned them on, and the servants, mostly fauns, began to trickle from the castle and out of the northern gate. The gryphon winged up high and saw that the last two catapults were ready.

The Telmarines knew now what she was doing, and arrows were aimed in her direction. She wheeled nervously, though she knew she had nothing to fear – she was far too high up for them to hit her. The commanders shouted angrily and boulders of terrible size were heaved to the catapults.

She screamed in horror as she saw the huge rocks being loaded into the catapults, her vocal cords a simple release for her fear. A well-aimed rock would kill her instantly, and she adjusted her flight course and swooped low over the city, searching for those who may have been left behind.

There was a creak and a groan of wood straining as the first volley of ammunition was launched, and the gryphon felt her breath stop as a single nymph ran from her room on the southern side, her baby in her arms. Heedless of the danger, she dived down, her wings pulled in close to her sides, as streamlined as she could get. Her muscles screamed as she lashed out her wings just seconds from the stone walkway and scooped the nymph up with her claws just as the catapults launched their missiles. The leaf-clothed lady screamed in terror, and her child wailed with her.

"Don't move!" The gryphon warned. "I don't want to drop you." The nymph trembled but silenced and lay still.

She and the gryphon watched from high up as the rocks flew towards the castle. There was a silence as they whistled through the air, making the BOOMs when the crashed into the stone all the more deafening when it happened.

The nymph cried as her home was destroyed, and the gryphon wheeled away westward, turning to see the other servants streaming down the northern slopes and across the plains even as their home crashed down behind them. With her sharp eyes, the gryphon could see that many of them were crying, even the menfolk. And as she watched Cair Paravel tumble down below her, the gryphon felt like crying too.

xXx

An hour or so later, the destruction of Cair Paravel was absolute, and the river of people down the northern plain had slowed to a morose, weepy train. The gryphon had left the nymph among her people and wheeled away, over the Telmarines army and back south towards the swiftly advancing Narnian army.

She swooped down over their heads to fly above General Agorix. "What news?" He called.

"The fool steward refused to leave." The gryphon shouted back. "But I managed to get the others out. Cair Paravel is gone. The Telmarines have completely destroyed it. They are preparing to head back even now."

"My thanks, friend." Agorix nodded. "We will cut them off and destroy _them_."

Further back, a male harpy caught the exchange with his sharp ears and fell back to inform Jarqual.

"Thank you, Rarzhal." She snarl-grinned. "I will speak with Agorix on our plan of attack." Her legs moved faster and she sped to the front of the column. "General!"

The centaur turned his head to look at her as she ran up alongside him. "Queen Jarqual."

"What is our plan?" She asked, not even out of breath.

He looked down at her shrewdly. "Are you not weary?"

"The earlier battle fed us well." She grinned up at him. "We will not tire for some time."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Would you object to circling around the Telmarine forces and driving them back south to us?"

"Of course not." Her grin grew wider. "In truth, we've been holding ourselves back for you, General. We could circle them in no time at all."

He smiled grimly. "Perfect. We will hide ourselves in the woods and along the rocks. You will drive them straight to us?"

Her eyes seemed to flash with excitement. "Would it matter if we killed a few on the way?"

He laughed. "Feel free."

She bared her teeth in a feral, wolf-like smile. "Wonderful." Some of the centaurs and beasts around her jumped when she let loose her battle roar, calling her harpies forward.

In a great black stream they trickled between the other forces and streaked ahead, led by Jarqual. Soon they had passed so far ahead of the rest of the forces that they were no longer visible.

True to her boast to General Agorix, Jarqual's harpies practically flew through the trees and along the Rush River. The terrain around Cair Paravel was riddled with hills and boulders, so it wasn't hard to keep out of sight of any sharp-eyes Telmarines, and they made good time.

Jarqual ordered for the harpies to split along the river into a long, unbreakable line. The Telmarines were packed up by now, and preparing to head back south. Jarqual waited until they were marching before sending her harpies into the line. Then she connected them.

In battle, for planned attacks, the King or Queen of the harpies could use the pentangle necklace to link all the harpies together so any direct orders shouted by the King or Queen could be obeyed without delay. It was an extremely valuable weapon, especially for attacks like these.

Jarqual didn't give the order yet, though she trembled to do so. First, a gryphon had to tell her that the General's forces were in place. It would be a fine thing to drive the Telmarines south, only to have them slip through the net and into the arms of their comrades at their camp.

They had waited for half an hour when one of the harpies down the line caught sight of a golden bird in the sky. As Jarqual's mind was in tune with every other harpy, she looked too. The golden bird wheeled around, too high for any human to distinguish it as a gryphon. But harpy senses far outstripped human ones, though as Jarqual often said, that wasn't saying much.

The gryphon didn't bother landing, just let loose a mewl-cry right in front of them. Jarqual nodded and it beat its wings hard, soaring away.

"Now?" Valgrak whispered, trembling with anticipation at her side.

"Not yet." Lijal answered for Jarqual, her eyes glowing excitedly as the Telmarines started to climb the first hill.

"On my command," Jarqual spoke to all the harpies through the pentangle necklace. "Unleash hell."

The line swayed slightly as Jarqual shifted on her feet. "Steady…" She breathed. "Steady…" This was it! "NOW!"

Every single harpy there roared with everything they had. It was deafening, and Jarqual could have laughed as every single Telmarine looked back at the line of dark creatures that had appeared suddenly and silently, as if by magic. Well, not so silently as the ear-splitting battle roar filled the air, spanning the distance between the two armies.

As one man, the Telmarines dropped the planks of wood and ran.

Jarqual howled with glee and conveyed her thought to all her harpies. "GO!"

Like a dark tide of impending doom they swept down their rocky outcrop and across the grassy plain. It was late afternoon and the shadows were long, seeming to follow the harpies like a dark blessing down the plain. The Telmarines fled as fast as they could, but they were human, and covered in heavy armour. In comparison, the harpies wore tight fitting, light clothes and were buoyed up by their meal earlier. They caught up quickly.

Watching from above was the gryphon who had told them to attack. His name was Norian, and as his keen eyes observed the scene below, he likened the harpies' attack to a pack of wolves herding sheep, but on a much larger sale.

The larger harpies circled around the sides of the Telmarine troops, herding them in, crowding them, and the smaller ones, their children, Norian realised, darted in and out of the humans, killing them one by one. The wind carried their laughter up to him, and Norian frowned. The harpies looked far too much like Fell creatures for his liking. Too much like wolves in particular.

Norian's father had told him about the time of the White Witch, and how her wolves, the so-called Secret Police, were the most feared force in Narnia. He had been a mere chick when she had been vanquished, but he had told incredible tales of the Battle of Beruna, and of the terrible, evil creatures in the Witch's army. Norian imagined that the harpies would have fitted right in.

He clawed the air in disgust and wheeled away.

Jarqual, meanwhile, was having the time of her life. The human soldiers running ahead of her were terrified – she could smell in blowing off them in waves as their comrades fell, killed by what looked like to them as mere children, six or seven at the youngest.

It was the most fun she'd ever had. This was the way harpies were meant to hunt, she thought as she jumped over a dead human in her path, felled by a giggling youngster up ahead. Jarqual grinned and roared her appreciation. The child turned back to glimpse his Queen and grinned ecstatically, roaring back. They both laughed.

In retrospect, Jarqual thought, plunging her knife into a soldier that was falling behind his fellows, the youngster could well be her son. He was the right age.

Jarqual had only mated once, mostly out of curiosity. Valgrak had showed her the ropes and a week or so later, she had been interested to discover that she was pregnant. Harpy pregnancies were quite short – four months. They got big quickly, which was how Jarqual knew so soon – the bump showed by the first week. Valgrak had been passingly interested – it was his first child too, after all – but soon lost interest.

Jarqual had given birth to a male. The birth had been quick, and thanks to gret-haal weed chewed throughout, mostly painless. Harpies were born small so as not to inconvenience the mother, but grew very fast, at practically a daily rate. By the second week they were talking, and by the end of the third week, mid-fourth at the latest, they were independent and disappeared down to the tunnels where they remained for about ten or fifteen years.

The youngster had black hair and a solid, lean build. Jarqual considered him lightly for a moment, then dismissed the interest, turning her attention to a particular soldier who seemed especially afraid of her. Grinning, she ran alongside for a moment, laughing out loud as he tried to swing his sword at her. She deflected and spun it with her right knife and stabbed him in the gut with her left, roaring triumph as he fell to be trampled under the feet of her harpies.

Running the humans south took less time than Jarqual had expected, and by then they had thinned the numbers by at least a third. She could see the line of trees to her right, ahead of her, dark in the evening light. She made a snap decision and raced around to the right of the semi-circle the harpies had created around what was left of the Telmarine troops.

As she looked ahead, in the last rays of light, she saw a terrible thing.

The remaining ninety Narnians, led by General Agorix, had been attacked from the rear by the hundred soldiers the Telmarines had kept back to defend their camp. And now she was driving at least eighty more of their enemies to join the assault. She screamed in fury and lashed out at the nearest Telmarine to her, felling him like a tree.

"Kill them!" She roared, using the pentangle necklace as a medium. "Kill them all!"

The harpies were only too glad to comply, but it was too late to turn the course of the battle around now. The sky darkened to match her mood, indigo banded with pink, red and violet behind her, and dark ultramarine ahead. In the fading light she heard a familiar battle cry, and Agorix's shape reared up to her left. "_NARNIA_!"

She threaded her way through the fray to his side, mortally wounding a human who had been sneaking up behind him. "General!"

"Queen Jarqual!" He gasped, blood splattered in stripes and spots across his face. His sword whirled like a demon on its own, killing anything human-shaped that came near.

"We must retreat!" She shouted above the battle-cries and screams of the dying.

"No!" He shouted. "We can still win this!"

"Your forces are down to twenties and mine are down to less than a hundred now I've led them into this death-trap. This is folly, General! We have lost!"

He growled animalistically and cut the head off a Telmarine. Jarqual sliced her blades back and forth faster than she had ever done in her life. She was not fighting for the thrill now – she was fighting to stay alive.

"Will you be able to signal your troops?"

"Instantly. Get yours out first." She demanded, ducking a swipe with a sword. "We are fresher. Hurry!"

He didn't hesitate. "Narnia! To me! To me!" He reared up high so that everyone could see him, even in the darkness. "To me!"

When he was satisfied that the ragged remains of his troops were with him, Jarqual and her harpies held the Telmarines back from them as they disappeared into the trees. Then she signalled her own troops.

The siren call from the pentangle necklace was too much for any harpy to resist and they flooded to Jarqual as quickly as they could, darting between the Telmarines and after Jarqual and Agorix, into the woods.

The Telmarines sounded a victory horn and then gave chase. Fools, Jarqual snorted as she raced through the trees, the cool moss and leaves good on her bare feet. They didn't know the woods as the Narnians did. They would never catch them.

But when the Narnian army finally slowed, a sense of despair hung low over all. They had lost. Jarqual did her duty as Queen and killed those who would be unable to fight because of their severe injuries. No living harpy was ever left behind on a battle-field if there were harpies around it who could get it out. Injuries were worn as badges of respect if they did not hinder the bearer. No tattoo could match a scar in mating appeal.

As soon as the river was thin enough, the remains of the Narnian army crossed and made for the Stone Table.

None who saw it would ever forget.

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_Thoughts are appreciated and met with much love._


	5. Tragedy at the Table

_Sorry I haven't updated recently. Many thanks to elektrum, 1m4n and Benbulben95. Your reviews make me squeal like a fangirl at a Twilight premiere, lol._

**DISCLAIMED**

* * *

Jarqual's head snapped up as the first screams and wails of horror and pain drifted to her on the breeze. Using her still-abundant energy from the fight, she sprung ahead and burst from the trees to look upon what had been a camp for the injured.

Her eyes widened in horror. A few camp fires and torches still burned, casting the terrible scene in flickering orange light.

The hundred Telmarines from their camp had not come straight from there. Instead, they had taken a slight detour to the Stone Table, and there butchered every living thing. Bodies strewed the field, bloodied and cut open, faces still frozen in terror. Jarqual took a step forward and her foot bumped into something furry.

Looking down, she saw that it was a fox, one of those who had stayed behind to care for the injured. It was laying spread out with its back to her. She was thankful for this, as its belly was slit open and its poor muzzle had been stamped on. Its eyes were half-open, glazed and empty.

She knelt down and eased her hands under the body, picking it up and holding it close. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the other harpies follow her example, gently lifting the bodies and carrying them reverently to the centre, where a pit was already being dug.

"Alive!" A shout rang out across the still clearing. "This one's alive!"

Jarqual laid the fox on the edge and ran to where the satyr had shouted from, at the foot of the stone table. In the satyr's furry arms, a cheetah was breathing raggedly, her muzzle stained with blood. Agorix was already there, and he bent down as much as he could to talk to her.

"What happened, friend?"

She coughed weakly. "They came for blood. They killed everyone without mercy…so much screaming…then they tried to climb the steps to desecrate the stones…" The onlookers gasped, looking around the ancient pillars to look for evidence of the Telmarines' success.

"Go on, sister." Jarqual urged. To harpies, all predators were siblings.

The cheetah whined as her flanks trembled. "We wouldn't let them. Me, Kast and Dartpaw." Her liquid amber eyes, hazy with pain, flicked to the bodies of a leopard and a lioness. "We tried…"

"You succeeded, brave cheetah." Agorix smiled gently, and she seemed to relax a little.

"What is your name, sister?" Jarqual asked. "So that we may honour you this terrible day with your fellows."

"Abeena." She answered faintly. "They will return…"

"Never!" Agorix said fiercely. "We will never let them desecrate the Stone Table!"

"They will return." Abeena insisted weakly. Jarqual held up a hand to still Agorix.

"What would you have us do, sister? It is your right to decide."

"Hide it!" She breathed urgently. "Hide it so they will never see it!"

"It shall be done in your name, sister." Jarqual promised.

"Let it be in Aslan's name." Abeena sighed, her eyelids drooping. "As I now return to his den…"

"A wise choice." Agorix bowed in respect. "It shall be done, brave cheetah."

Abeena sighed one last time, the breath leaving her body in a death rattle as she smiled. The satyr looked up, tears matting the fur around his eyes. "How can we do what she has asked? How can we hide the Table from the Telmarines?"

"We will find a way." Agorix said firmly. "After we have paid our respects to these brave creatures." His gaze turned below to where the pit was being finished, mostly by harpies, digging with their weapons or their bare hands if their weapons were not suitable.

The satyr bowed his head and Jarqual helped him to lift Abeena's body down to the edge of the pit. Agorix lifted the limp body of the male leopard, Kast, and followed them. There was almost complete silence while the bodies were all found and brought to the edges of the pit, punctuated only by small sobs and hiccups of grief.

A party of centaurs and harpies went back to the battle field to retrieve the bodies of those lost, Agorix among them. Jarqual stayed back to organise the arranging of the bodies by the edges of the pits – heaviest nearest so that they could be easier lowered and wouldn't squash the little ones.

Finally, the pit was dug, and a number of Narnians and harpies went into the woods to search for dead wood to build a pyre in the pit. They found lots, and it was all brought back and spread evenly in the hole. Then one weeping centaur lady held her torch high over one end.

"We burn and bury our dead before the Stone Table." She cried. "And offer a prayer to Aslan to protect we who remain from these cruel invaders." She bowed her head, and everyone followed her suit. Silence reigned for a moment or two, and then she looked up again, her face set. "Many have paid the price of this war, and they died with honour, fighting for what they believed in. No creature could ask for more." She let her head hang as she stretched her arm out over the pit full of dry wood, and dropped it.

The wood caught almost instantly, and the flames raced across the expanse of the rectangular hole, dancing at the sides as if searching for a way out. Everyone was still for a moment as the blaze roared, and then the satyr who had held Abeena as she died, stepped forward, ignoring the blistering heat, and pushed the brave cheetah's body into the flames.

He started it off, and everyone else went about the business of pushing in the larger animals and gently tossing the smaller ones. Jarqual found her fox and stroked his cold, hard flank before throwing him into the centre of the blaze.

At some point, one of the fauns pulled out a pipe and began to play a low, haunting, mourning song. Two more pipes joined the dirge, and the centaurs started up their farewell song, a low humming and 'ah'-ing that brought tears to all of their eyes.

Then the remaining satyrs joined in, and the few beasts remaining whined and howled for their lost kin. The harpies remained silent, waiting for their Queen to begin before they did.

Jarqual waited until every last creature was burning before opening her own mouth. The harpies' song for those who died in battle was an actual song, though the meaning to the words was lost in time, and no one knew what the song actually said anymore. It was low in pitch at the beginning, though the females rose a key about halfway through. Smooth and sad, it was very unlike the harpies' real language, which was harsh and blunt and spiky.

With everyone singing and wailing, the night passed slowly, and the mourning only stopped when the sun rose in a bloodied sky. The clearing was misty and cold, the fire in its last hour. There was nothing left in the pit but indistinguishable black lumps covered with a grey, powdery ash.

As the last note of a faun pipe shuddered out of existence, the last flame flickered out. Jarqual closed her eyes and wiped a hand across her face. When she looked at it, it was smudged with black smoke-stains from the fire. She sighed, her ears automatically swivelling to catch the sound of horse hooves treading heavily towards her.

"General." She didn't open her eyes.

"Queen Jarqual." His voice was as weary as hers. "I was wondering if you had had any ideas on hiding this place from the Telmarines."

"As a matter of fact, General," She stretched, her spine popping. "I have."

"And?"

"A how."

"I'm sorry?"

"A how. We can build a how over the Stone Table, and name it after Aslan, as the cheetah sister suggested. Aslan's How."

"That cheetah's name was –" Agorix began heatedly, but Jarqual held up her hand.

"I know what her name was, General." She sighed and opened her eyes, staring out at the pit. "But we harpies never speak the names of the dead."

"I see." The centaur's voice had considerably less fire in it. After a pause, he said, "We'll have to bury them now."

"Leave it to my harpies." Jarqual leapt to her feet. "They need to vent some energy, and sparring practise doesn't seem like a particularly sensitive idea at this point."

"Indeed." The General muttered, as the harpies stood, all eyes on their Queen.

Jarqual picked up one of the larger clods of earth that had been cut from the ground last night and dropped it into the pit. The harpies' eyes gleamed and jumped to work. At Jarqual's order, however, they left the top three feet unfilled. When done, the General waved her over.

"What is the meaning of the incomplete burial, Queen Jarqual?" He asked.

"We mean to mark their grave, General." Jarqual smirked. "In an ancient way. We will build a Stone Temple on top of them so that their bravery will never be forgotten."

"I see." He nodded. "What about the how?"

"We will also assist in building that." She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. "Or complete it ourselves, if need be."

He chuckled, the merry sound muted in the clearing. "I think you will find everyone willing to pitch in, if only a little."

"Well that's good." Jarqual said wryly. "Because I doubt a single one of my harpies knows how to design a how. Stone Temple, yes. How, no."

He huffed and smiled. "I'm sure the fauns would be glad to help. Quite the designers when it comes to it. The beavers would be good advisors too." He added thoughtfully.

Jarqual resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Centaurs. Get them started on an idea and they could go on for days.

"My Queen?"

Jarqual turned. It was the young male who had been running ahead of her, who may or may not be her son. "Mmm?" He ducked his head.

"Is it true we're gonna build a Stone Temple?" He asked in the harpies' own language, complete with the slight accent that accompanied the youngsters when they were in the jungles. To Agorix, it sounded like, "Hagh moturkan ti kitat Ashtar Skorr?"

"Common tongue in front of others, whelp!" She bared her teeth, though her mouth was turned up at the corners in a smile, showing she wasn't too serious.

"Sorry." He mumbled, smiling lopsidedly. "Build we Temple of Stone?"

"Yes." She smiled and nodded, turning to Agorix as he ran off to tell his pack mates. "Excuse his poor language. There's no need to speak the common tongue in the jungles."

"Jungles?" Agorix frowned. "I thought you lived in the western woods, underground."

"The lowest tunnels are known as the jungles." She told him. "That's where all the youngsters come from. Every harpy child here has never seen sunlight before this."

"What?" Agorix looked at her in disbelief. "Never?"

"They stay in the jungles, in their packs, till they are around fifteen or sixteen years old, nearly fully-fledged." She explained softly. "Then they come up and fight for the right to own a weapon of their choice. They never win, of course, but fighting thirst is what earns them the right to a weapon. You'll notice that all they have are stones sharpened in an imitation of a dagger. That is the only weapon they can get down there." She smiled up at the General. "Of course, some still prefer to kill with their bare hands."

"Kill…the Telmarines?" The General looked wary, and Jarqual hid a grin.

"Each other, General. It's life-or-death in the jungles. Survival of the fittest. It's an effective system to weed out the weaklings." At the centaur's horrified look, Jarqual tried to explain. "Understand, General, that we are not loving creatures. That boy could well be my son. Who knows? Who cares? It's not going to help in battle is it? Who cares whether your parents were kings or beggars? In battle, it doesn't matter. A beggar can kill a king if he is the better fighter."

Agorix nodded thoughtfully. "You believe that birth shouldn't entitle one to a better life than another?"

"Yes." Jarqual nodded. "I fought my way to the top, and many have died by my blades." Her fingers brushed over the lion pommels at her hips and she smiled. Agorix glanced at her fingers.

"What is the figure on your pommels?"

Jarqual slid the twin blades from her belt quicker than any other creature could and held them in her battle manner; the pommels encased in her fists, the blades sticking straight down from between her middle and fourth fingers. She twisted her hands palm-up and opened her fists so it looked like the miniature lions were standing upright.

"Lions." Agorix murmured, almost to himself as he bent to study them. His eyes flicked up to meet Jarqual's. "Aslan?"

She smiled proudly. "The same. We serve the great lion before all others. If he appears on the battlefield we fight for him no matter what our allegiance was before then."

Agorix's expression betrayed his surprise as he pulled back. After a pause, he held out his hands. "May I?" He gestured to the knives.

Jarqual considered for a moment, but handed them over, twisting the handles so he could grasp them easily. In his large hands they looked lie tiny toys, but the blades, when he felt them, were wickedly sharp.

"How do you blacken the blade?" He asked curiously. "I have never seen such a thing before."

"We don't know." Jarqual shrugged, never taking her eyes off the blades. "According to the Memory, we stole weapons from whatever creatures we fought and defeated and stocked ourselves up. When a harpy dies, their chosen weapon returns to the store and will be selected by a youngster when they fight the fight for it. I chose my knives." She smiled proudly. "There are none like them."

"I daresay you're right there." Agorix nodded, returning the knives with a slightly curious look. "You speak of a memory. Is this a tale or story among your harpies?"

"The Memory is the collective memories and experiences of those before us." Jarqual said, twirling the blades in her palms expertly and slipping them back into her belt. "We do not keep secrets."

"So when you die," Agorix frowned. "Those harpies after you will be able to see this conversation?"

"Not off the tops of their heads." Jarqual shook her head. "It takes centuries of practise and patience and strength to find anyone's individual memories in the Memory. It's far too dangerous to be advised." At his questioning glance, she elaborated. "Spend too much time in the Memory and you start living the past, unable to get out. No, we see events. I know the details of the White Witch's conquering of Narnia because those before me were there. It is only through the Memory can we truly understand."

"Understand what?"

"Everything. Understand what we are, why we are, and how we are. Understand why we must serve Aslan before all others, and why the banshees," She hissed their name, "Must never be trusted. We learn from our mistakes." She added, her gaze turning distant.

Agorix waited for her to resume pointedly, and she smiled slightly.

"There is no Memory before a certain point. The pentangle necklace is all the proof we have that we came from another world which was destroyed. The Memory tells that all the events in it from before the great Crossing were lost because of the shift in our beings from our old home world to this. We may never get them back. It is an unspoken quest of the harpies to restore the lost part of the Memory." She smiled. "Though, obviously not an active quest."

Agorix nodded slightly. "I feel that I understand harpies a little more through our exchange, great Queen."

Jarqual laughed, turning it into a cough as several affronted Narnians looked at her. "My thanks, General." She smiled behind her hand. "But now I think we have to call a meeting to ask who will assist in the building of Aslan's How."

He nodded and pulled a horn from one of the belts slung around his horse-like middle and trotting to the foot of the stone steps. When he blew it, everyone there crowded around in a semicircle, waiting to hear what he had to say.

"You may have heard by now," He began in his booming voice. "That the Telmarines wanted to desecrate the Stone Table as a final insult after slaughtering our injured." Clearly several were ignorant of this, and the General had to wait for the horrified gasps to pass before he continued. "They were unsuccessful because of the bravery and sacrifice of three great cats. Dartpaw the lioness, Kast the leopard and Abeena the cheetah all gave their lives to see the Stone Table unspoiled by the cruelty of the Telmarines, and it was Abeena's last request as she lay dying, to hide the Table from their eyes should they return and name it after Aslan.

"Queen Jarqual has had an idea. As well as marking the graves of our fellows with a Stone Temple, which the harpies and any others wishing to assist will build, she has proposed that a how be built over the Stone Table to shield it from the Telmarines forever." He glanced at her briefly. "I myself will stay to assist in the building of Aslan's How in any way I can, and I extend an invitation to any others to join us in this act of tribute to the dead, three truly great cats and Aslan himself."

There was a moment of near-quiet as the crowd muttered and mumbled, then a faun stepped forward, a newly-dressed scar carving his handsome face down one side from temple to lips. "I will help." He said in a deep voice. "I will stay."

"So will I." A female centaur stepped forward gracefully.

"And I."

"Me too."

"I'll stay."

"I can help."

"So can I."

"I'll help in any way I can."

"As will I."

Many stepped forward, and those who didn't promised to spread the word to the others wherever they could. A huge hooded raven offered to fly to Owlwood to inform the residents there, and flapped off right then and there. Inspired, an eagle and a kestrel prepared to fly to the western reaches and the Shuddering Woods, and a murder of crows agreed to fly down the Beruna river and then down the Archen river to inform all the creatures living along it.

So it was decided.

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_So what do you think of my version of how the How (boy does **that** sound weird) was created? Review and tell me :D_


	6. The Pass of Time & the Banshee Uprising

_Mucho love and cookies to elektrum (as always), ilysia, Benbulben95 and Henora - all your kind words make this fic worth continuing!_

**DISCLAIMED**

* * *

Five months later and all was complete. The How was a work of art, designed by the faun who had spoken on the first day. It needed no mortar or cement to hold together against anything nature pitted against it. The Stone Temple was also finished, completed by the harpies relatively quickly. They knew what they were doing when it came to building those sorts of things, and offered their services to the building of the How as soon as the Stone Temple was finished.

When all was done, there was a celebration on the last night. It started out sombre, but soon grew to be merrier as the fauns started playing their pipes and some of the harpies demonstrated their acrobatic talents. The gryphons put on a beautiful aerial display and the beasts that had come from far and wide to help in building the How played in the new grass. The celebration carried on long into the night.

In the morning, Jarqual was woken by the fingers of mist brushing her arm lightly. She smiled and stretched, revelling in the coolness of the dew beading against her skin and in her hair. Looking around, she saw that everyone else was asleep, and knew that now was the right time for the harpies to slip away quietly.

She touched the arm of the harpy nearest to her, a male older than her with a shorn head. He woke instantly and nodded, waking those nearest him. It took a minute or so for every harpy to wake up, all in total silence. When they were all stood, Jarqual nodded and they danced lightly into the trees, some swinging themselves up into the gnarled branches to leap along above ground level.

Just as she herself was about to disappear from the clearing, Jarqual felt eyes burn into her back. She turned to see General Agorix, his tail swishing about his flanks as he stood alone among the others who slumbered. Silently, he smiled and inclined his head.

Jarqual bared her teeth in a grin and bowed deep, melting into the forest. She would probably never see him again, and they both knew it. For though harpies were immortal, centaurs certainly weren't.

As the harpies flitted through the trees, Jarqual felt a sense of uneasiness grow among them, and it wasn't long before Lijal ran up alongside her. "Do you feel it, Jarqual?" She whispered, looking around.

"Yes." Jarqual frowned, also glancing back and forth. "But I don't know what it is. I just can't put my finger on it…but something's definitely wrong."

Lijal nodded and they exchanged a glance before she swung herself up into the trees. For a while there was nothing, and then someone screamed up ahead. Jarqual raced to the source of the sound to see a quivering female youngster, ringed by her nervous pack.

"What's wrong, Jarla?" One of them asked, probably her brother, thought Jarqual, noticing their similar features.

"Something's wrong with the trees." Jarla whispered, her damp red hair falling in tangled knots around her face. "They're too…" She shook her head. "Something's wrong with them."

Jarqual's ear swivelled towards the youngster and heard the conviction in her tone, and knew that Jarla was right. It was the trees creating the sense of wrongness that had followed them from the camp.

She left the small pack and went up to a giant oak, laying her hands against its ancient trunk. "Tree sister, wake up and talk to me."

Moments passed and Jarqual's eyes widened in something akin to fear. "Tree sister? Can you hear me?" Nothing. Her head whipped around to glare at the harpies. "Talk to the trees. Wake them up!"

The place was suddenly filled with harpies touching trees, imploring them, cajoling them, begging, pleading and telling them to wake up. Nothing happened. Jarqual sunk to the bottom of the oak trunk, shell-shocked.

"What's wrong with them?" Lijal cried. "Why won't they wake up? Are they sick?"

"They don't look sick." Valgrak rubbed a leaf between his fingers and sniffed it. "Or smell it."

"They've gone." Jarqual said, standing up. "They've pulled back inside themselves."

Frantic eyes turned to hers, and she tried to keep her composure. Suddenly a thought struck the older male she had seen with the shorn head. "What about the trees in the western woods?"

The harpies turned to each other, muttering and gasping. Jarqual dropped into a sprinting pose. "We'll see. Home!" They followed her as she raced through the seemingly dead trees, heading west.

It was night by the time they reached the borders of the western woods, and wails and howls rose to the moon as they discovered that the trees here were also in a coma-like state, sleeping so deep they could not be woken.

They tried everything they could to wake the trees, to no avail. Jarqual herself took the riskiest step – slicing into a birch with one of her knives. The harpies had held their breath, but nothing had happened. The tree didn't respond and Jarqual gave up on trying to rouse them.

Years turned into decades. Decades turned into centuries, and over time, all inhabitants of Narnia only vaguely remembered a time when trees talked and danced, and hardly anyone could imagine a time before Telmarine rule.

And then, for all of Narnia, something happened.

After 1300 years of Telmarines ruling the land, their prince, a youth by the name of Caspian, joined forces with the Narnians to fight his uncle for his rightful place on the throne. Or so said the rumours. The harpies were occupied with troubles of their own.

"Queen!"

Jarqual looked around sharply at the young male standing in the entrance to her private chambers. "What?"

"They're on the move!"

"WHAT?!" She shrieked, racing past him and loosing a summoning roar. "To me! We go to battle!"

Excited roars and whoops of delight streamed up from the tunnels as harpies in great numbers poured from the hidden tunnel entrances in the roots of ancient trees that had lived since before they had fallen in their coma.

Jarqual cursed as she sped through the lifeless trees. The banshees had started to move down from the Lantern Wastes a month ago, and had killed several harpies on their way with their lethal screams. Or so they had thought.

It seemed that thousands of years living in a world not their own had weakened the banshees enough that their screams didn't have the same effect on living beings that they used to. In the old times a single scream could fell hundreds of harpies at once, but it seemed that that power was a thing of the past.

That was why, Jarqual suspected, they were moving now – their screams were still able to knock a harpy out for days on end, and they were trying to finish what they had started millennia ago on the old home world and kill the harpies with what they had, trying to end it before they were virtually powerless.

But if the harpies couldn't hear the screams, they couldn't be affected. Grilla, a female who assisted harpies in childbirth and healing, had mixed up a powerful, foul-tasting concoction that temporarily disabled the hearing. Jarqual didn't know how, and she didn't care. It was irritating in the sense that she couldn't hear her comrades, but since attacks like this were usually silent, the harpies had developed a simple sign language to deal with it.

As she ran, she caught a small bottle of the potion Nyzin threw at her and downed it swiftly in one gulp, making a face. The stuff really did taste disgusting. Within a minute, the sounds around her faded to nothing. She pulled her knives from her belt and made another face, hating being unable to hear. It was a disadvantage, and a weakness.

To her sides, she could see her fellow harpies flitting through the trees as fast as she was. Incensed with new-found rage, she picked up the pace. She caught sight of a few grins as the others gladly kept up, and together they raced north, to the edges of the forest.

They were not far when an irregular movement caught Jarqual's eye. Nyzin, signalling that there were banshees ahead, to the right. She grinned and steered in that direction. They didn't bother being quiet. The only way banshees could harm them from a distance was if they screamed, and that was no good to them now.

They were close – Jarqual could smell them on the air. A tang like metal. It smelled like blood and iron tasted, but tinglier. Up ahead – there! Five of them! She roared furiously and leapt into the clearing, seeing the banshees properly for the first time in her life.

The Memory was very accurate. They were tall, massive, like giants. Only a little shorter than the tree tops, they were like pillars of liquid. Bright, lightning blue and white, patterns shifted across them. Jarqual had seen patterns like that once when Krith, an older male, had gently placed a blue-tinted mirror on the bed of a river. Misshapen diamonds had wobbled across it in an endless pattern. It was similar to the patterns on the banshees, but those were smaller, slower, not as ordered.

Four of them had rounded tops but one was different, wider than the others and with a sort of crown-like growth on its head. They were partially transparent; though Jarqual knew they could be hurt and killed. She smiled grimly as she charged towards one. She couldn't wait to avenge the deaths of her harpies.

It leaned forward and down, and Jarqual laughed as she realised it was screaming at her. It was part of their plan to let them believe that they were immune, so she yelled out some commands to Nyzin and Nox, another of the males in the hunting pack while making the appropriate signs with her hands.

Concentrating on her voice, the banshees didn't see the hand signs. They deflected the attacks easily, as she had expected, but they didn't sense the onslaught of harpies coming up behind them, and two of them were overcome as the harpies swarmed up their bodies. They lashed around blindly, long, hard tentacles forming out of whatever it was made of and trying to swat them off, but there were too many. They hacked and slashed and stabbed and sliced till it fell and dissolved into a water-like liquid that soaked into the ground.

Jarqual just hoped it didn't poison the trees as she shimmied up a trunk to top-level with one of the disgusting creatures. It was plain to see they were not of this world. At least the harpies looked like they belonged. But Narnian or not, that was not on Jarqual's mind as she braced herself, and then sprung from the trunk with a roar, knife pommels clenched tight in her hands, blades pointing at the banshee.

It turned slightly, so its eyes must have been on that particular side. Jarqual tried to aim for where she imagined they would be as she landed, plunging her knives in to keep her up and letting out a cry of disgust.

The flesh, if it could be called flesh, yielded under her weight, thin and cold and squishy. No, not _squishy_, exactly. It was like someone had put a very thin, soft glass over water to make a bag. She got the feeling that if she put too much weight on it, it would cave under her and explode.

She pulled her left knife out. The liquid inside did not gush out as she had expected, nor did it remain inside the skin, rather, some painfully bright blue came to the surface and a thick drip ran down the skin. Jarqual grinned and was about to stab it again when a rock-hard tentacle exploded from the skin under her and threw her backwards into the trees.

Seeing their Queen hit the trunk of an old beech and cling to it tightly, her face screwed up in a snarl, the harpies roared their fury and attacked with a vengeance, growing stronger by the second as they fed on the battle glory and exhilaration. Two banshees were already dead and the other three were failing, blue liquid running down their skin like a child's representation of a river.

The battle was won, Jarqual thought as she rejoined the fight, throwing herself violently from her perch at the banshee that had thrown her and plunging her entire arm into a wound someone else had made and ripping her knife downwards. There was definitely resistance, she noted thoughtfully as the banshee tried to form a tentacle to throw her away like he had before, but she simply hacked through it as it formed, knowing this time what to expect.

She wondered vaguely whether the banshee made any noise as it toppled down to be set upon by vicious harpies, but shrugged inwardly and joined the assault on the last banshee standing, which put up a terrific fight, tentacles lashing every which way. Several harpies managed to hang onto its crown-thing and hacked away at it.

It was a male, Jarqual realised with a jolt as it dissolved into nothingness. That was what the crown-thing on its top was. And the others were females. She waved one hand in the air and pointed back the way they had came, signalling their retreat.

When she got back, and her hearing recovered, Jarqual went straight to Hrundrakaa.

Hrundrakaa was the oldest male in the whole clan, though of course he looked just like any adolescent human boy. The only way to tell his age was his name – an old-fashioned title, and the sheer number of scars he bore. He specialised in delving into the Memory; indeed, he had what could be called a talent for it.

Jarqual knew where she'd find him – in the workshop, sharpening his blades. His chosen weapon was strange, a sort of staff when folded up, about the length from her shoulder to halfway between her elbow and wrist. When he flicked it out it extended to reveal many blades, attached in various different ways. Depending on how he flicked it and in which direction, it could stick out straight, spin around, splinter into other, even smaller blades connected with little metal links in a sort of sputnik shape (he liked to use that one as a mace), and any other number of deadly things. Jarqual had fought him twice in the pits, and won, though it had been a very close thing.

He was at the wheel when she entered, sharpening one of the blades. "My Queen?" He muttered, not looking up, seeming to know that she was searching for him.

Jarqual smiled. "I would steal a little of your time, Hrundrakaa."

"Mmm." He nodded distractedly, holding the blade up and squinting along it. Finding nothing to pick at, he smiled tightly and flicked it back into the staff, meeting Jarqual's eyes. "Lead on, Queen."

She bowed her head and swept out, knowing he was right behind her. She led him down several of the lesser-used tunnels to her private chambers. He made himself comfortable on the dirt floor in the centre and she smirked, sitting opposite.

"You have something to ask me." He said. It was not a question.

"Indeed." She nodded. "You were there today when we killed the banshees. I know from the memory that one was male and the other four female, but I am curious as to why such an odd group was in the forest. I'm hoping you can help me."

Hrundrakaa was quiet for a moment before answering. "I'll help you. If you help me."

"How could I help you?" Jarqual asked immediately, so fast that he smiled.

"So paranoid, Queen? I'll tell you after you've satisfied your curiosity."

Jarqual considered, then bent her head. "You have skill in traversing the Memory. I would have you use this skill."

He smiled. "As you wish, my Queen. But first I'll have to get my energy up." He rose to his feet. "Spar with me? Or shall we go to the pits?"

"You know me far better than I thought." Jarqual grinned, sliding her daggers out. He smiled dangerously.

"Is that a good thing, I wonder?"

"Let's find out." With a bark-roar like a wolf she launched herself at him so fast he barely had time to block, and from then it was game on.

They were both elite harpies in their prime, well trained and very experienced. At first neither could get an opening, but suddenly one of Hrundrakaa's blades sliced across Jarqual's cheek, accentuating her sharp face. She retaliated furiously, her eyes bright with what was referred to in the pits and jungles as 'fight-fever'.

For well over two hours they fought furiously, neither tiring nor willing to stop the fun. Somewhere in the third hour, Hrundrakaa's blades managed to whip her left knife from her hand, cutting her fingers in many places and making her hiss in pain. So full of adrenalin was she than she managed to get close enough to disarm Hrundrakaa by pressing up to him and nipping his collarbone.

He backed up with a surprised yelp and she grinned and sliced his fingers, weakening them enough to drive her knife into the centre of the sputnik mace and twist it away. Now they were both weaponless, and reduced to fighting with bare skin. It was a rule in the pits that once a weapon was out of reach it was dishonourable to pick it up again. It was like cheating.

The fourth hour found Jarqual and Hrundrakaa delivering powerful blows to each other and blocking with their forearms in a traditional style. Suddenly Hrundrakaa's leg snaked out and tripped Jarqual up, making her crash to the floor. In seconds he was straddling her waist, pinning her hands above her head.

He grinned and lowered his face to hers. "I think I've won."

She snarl-grinned. "Think again." Lunging forward, she pressed her teeth to his throat. He froze. One movement could mean his death. Her lips brushed against his neck as she spoke, the sound muffled. "Concede?"

"It would seem I have little choice." He answered, though he didn't move.

"Concede?" Her teeth dug in a little harder and he smiled faintly.

"Conceded."

She made a satisfied sound and drew back, assuming he would let her up. She only realised her mistake as he leaned back down, breathing into her ear and using his weight to his full advantage as he kept her pinned to the floor.

Had she struggled, he would have let her up and he would have proceeded to delve into the Memory at her request. When instead she arched her back, pressing against him, he knew she had read his signals and accepted his advances. He needed no further information as he pulled back slightly so he could stare deep into her eyes, and then dropped his lips over hers.

Later, Jarqual compared Hrundrakaa to Valgrak. She smiled. Valgrak couldn't even come close to what Hrundrakaa had done to her. It had felt like every fibre of her body being untied and knotted up at the same time. She sighed and let her eyes drift closed, enjoying the warmth of Hrundrakaa's naked body next to hers in her pile of furs and blankets. She felt more relaxed than she had ever been in her entire life, and considering that she was pushing one and a half thousand years, that was really saying something.

* * *

_Okay about this chapter - sorry I left the harpies out of Caspian's rise to power, but as I'm sure you noticed, harpies didn't turn up in either book or film. Sadly. So to keep the harpies out of those lovely battles, I made the banshees get all angsty instead. Hope that's not too disappointing for you - next chapter might make up for it. Maybe. More banshee action next time, and Jarqual learns more of the goings on in the east!_


	7. Battle and Memories

_Please don't kill me for not updating. I am sorry, really. Gulp. Sorrysorrysorry! Stuff just piled up and got on top of me and this just got shunted further and further away...till now! Hehe. Love and thanks to elektrum, ilysia and Benbulben95. And Wolf of Kohona for putting this on alert. It is only thanks to you that I haven't given up on this yet._

**DISCLAIMED**

* * *

One week later, Jarqual cursed heartily as she glared down at her abdomen, which was slightly swollen. Pregnant. _Svakaw_!

Cursing in harpy really _sounded_ like cursing when she said it. Jarqual didn't curse often, but when she did, she did well.

Curse Hrundrakaa's brilliance in the downstairs department! Jarqual barely restrained herself from snarling outright, but couldn't quite bring herself to regret their exchange. He really was very good. But they had both satisfied themselves now, and after he had delved into the Memory to answer her questions they had parted ways.

Jarqual sank backwards into her furs and considered what he had told her.

There were very few female banshees (officially called banthshees, apparently), and as such they were very important to the banshees as a whole. What harpies had discovered when they came to Narnia was that banshees relied on their females as bargaining chips n their little world of raging politics. Banthshees were literally sold off to raise the buyer's standing in their court. Little more than pets, banthshees had little mind of their own. It seemed that their singular purpose in life was to mate with the banshee she had been sold to and make as many little banshees as possible.

Of course, the banshees were very competitive over banthshees, and a banthshee was locked away for the rest of her life after being sold in case one of the males who had not won her got jealous enough to kill her and thus deprive the court of little banshees to further the race.

Of the five banshees her harpies had killed, four of them had been banthshees. Jarqual frowned. Why would the banshees leave four of their precious females virtually unprotected in the midst of enemy territory? It didn't make any sense! Banshees may be snobbish aristocrats, but they weren't stupid.

The harpies needed to spy on them to get the missing information that would make sense of the situation. Jarqual hissed in frustration – they couldn't just waltz up like that! If a banshee detected them (and who knew whether they would? Jarqual had never actually encountered banshees before in her life before this), and screamed, they could easily kill every harpy that flopped, unconscious, to the ground. And any information gained would be lost!

What if they wrote it down as they listened? Would the banshees detect that? The quietest way to write was with a stylus on a wax tablet. If they dropped them if they were killed by a banshee, would the banshees find the tablets? Surely not all of them…

It might work, but then again, it was foolish and risky. Jarqual weighed the possible negative outcomes against the possible positive outcomes. The negatives outweighed the positives by far and Jarqual sighed: She wouldn't do it.

A shame really, but you couldn't spy without your ears, and the banshees didn't have lips to read.

Why not just go up and ask them?

Jarqual laughed out loud. Yes, and say what? "Oh hello, sorry we killed four of your practically invaluable females; care to explain why you left them so pathetically unprotected?" Oh yes – she could see that going down really well.

There was a knock on the door and Lijal walked in. "They're on the move again."

Jarqual clenched her teeth to stop herself cursing. Very loudly. "Right then. I want to know why their females were so easy to kill." She strode out. Since there were no secrets in the tunnels, Jarqual had spread the news about the banthshees around as quick as she could – someone might know something, after all.

It seemed that no one had, so the harpies were still in the dark on that front. And Jarqual did not like not knowing anything.

"Where are they?"

"According to Kriz, they've passed the northern rocks and spread out, infiltrating gradually in a line. He nearly got caught."

"Did he hear them then?" Jarqual asked, matching up the name of Kriz to a young male harpy just out of the tunnels. He had definite promise as a scout and spy – he was small, but very wily and sly; good harpy stuff.

"I…suppose he must have." Lijal said, a little surprised.

"Good." Jarqual nodded, walking a little faster. "He can tell me about it as we move out." She roared long and loud, summoning her harpies to battle. The western woods were _their_ territory! The banshees had _no_ right trying to take it from them! She pulled her lips back over her teeth in a vicious snarl at those thoughts and heard Lijal snarling beside her.

They roared together, and as the harpies rallying behind them joined in, the noise shook the dirt from the ceiling. Streaming out from the tunnel entrances, the harpies felt themselves connected by the pentangle necklace.

Jarqual sent out a request that thrummed through the minds of every harpy, and seconds later a young male with matted black hair and a band around his forehead to keep it out of his face ran up alongside her.

"You're Kriz?" She asked quickly.

"Aye, Queen." He bowed his head.

"Weapon?"

"Throwing knives."

"You good?"

"The best." He grinned and she smiled despite herself.

"I hear you were the one who alerted us to the banshees."

"Aye, Queen."

"What did they sound like?"

He smiled. "When they move along the ground they make no noise at all. The bottoms of 'em're more see-through than the rest an' they just pass through stuff without making a sound. But when they stop their insides make this kinda…gloopy sound. Like what stew sounds like bubblin' ina pot, but constant, like."

"I see." Jarqual nodded. "And did you hear them speak to each other?"

"Aye, Queen. One of 'em said to the other to move further away cos King Hreeth had said they had to spread out." They're voices were weird, Queen. Like…snake hissing, kinda breathy like, and with all the charm of a hag."

"Can you imitate their words and say exactly what they said?"

"Aye, Queen." He grimaced and frowned thoughtfully, thinking about how best to reproduce their voices. "Alright then. "Move further away you greethshat! King Hreeth said to spread out!" I reckon greethshat is like scthrak, you know?"

Jarqual nodded. Scthrak was a kind of curse word used to describe an idiot, but ruder and more derisive. She turned her mind to how Kriz had sounded. He had spoken slowly, blurring the words together in a breathy, sighing kind of hiss. He had injected malice into the words as well, making them quite convincing.

"Did they have mouths at all that you could see?"

"Nay, Queen. The blue-white stuff inside 'em swirled faster round a bit near the front of their top bits though."

"Hmm. I wonder what they live on." Jarqual wondered quietly, then turned to Kriz. "Good work. But we won't hear them for this battle." She accepted a large bottle of Grilla's potion from Lijal, took a gulp and passed it onto Kriz, who also took a swig, making a face. He passed it along the line and then fell back, sensing that his presence was not needed by the Queen anymore.

"Plan?" Valgrak sneaked up to occupy Kriz's empty place at Jarqual's side.

"Front line, attack." Jarqual said quickly before her hearing faded. "Second line stay in trees behind in case some get through. Third line use the time to sneak around and cut off their retreat through the northern rocks."

The lines had been Jarqual's idea after her first encounter with the banshees. The first line was made up of those like her, who used up-close tactics. The third was made up of long-range fighters like Kriz. The second line was the fastest of both. There were about a hundred and fifty in the first line and seventy five in the other two. It was well balanced, and Jarqual had a feeling it would work well.

Halgra leapt down from a tree almost right into Jarqual. She crouched slightly at her Queen's warning snarl, but gave her report as was her duty as scout.

She made the sign for enemy – index and pinkie fingers out straight and middle fingers bent at the middle joint, stretching forward to touch the thumb – then the sign for minute – a circle made with her thumb touching her index and middle fingers – and held up one finger on her other hand for one. Then she pointed ahead. Jarqual grinned, understanding.

The banshees were right ahead, only a minute away. Jarqual's grin widened. She could sense the harpies behind her aching for battle, and she picked up the pace, feeling the thrill of excitement through the pentangle necklace. She felt it hum as she conveyed orders for the second line to stay here and for the third line to start circling around.

She saw the first glimmer of blue through the trees thirty seconds later and she jumped up into the trees, roaring to the banshees. Even if she couldn't hear herself roar, they could.

So when she leapt into a tree at the same height of a banshee, she launched herself with a battle roar at it instantly, noting with satisfaction that she was the first. She grabbed onto its crown, which was hard, unlike the rest of its body, and stabbed her left knife in, ripping downwards.

She very quickly became aware of the difference between banshees and banthshees in their fighting. Banthshees had never learned to fight. Banshees had. They were fast and deadly. Jarqual had only ripped a little way when a tentacle formed out of its body and wrapped around her, crushing her and then tossing her away.

She slammed into a tree and pitched forward. She barely had time to see the branch below and hold out her arms before she slammed into it and wrapped her arms tight around it. When she looked up, line one was attacking the banshee that had caught her with gusto.

Instead of leaping blindly into battle, Jarqual remembered what Kriz had said about the banshees' insides swirling faster where their mouths were and focused her eyes on looking. Suddenly she saw it – a wide swirling shape that was obviously a mouth, and above it, two slit-shaped swirls that were eyes!

Jarqual grinned and pulled herself up higher, preparing for when the banshee would drift past her. When it did, she ran down the branch and jumped off it like a frog, flying towards it. As she jumped, she yelled, "Hoy! Greethshat!" As expected, the eye swirls swivelled to face her and she roared as she spread her arms wide, knives pointing outwards, and drove them into the banshee's eyes with gusto.

She actually _felt_ the scream reverberate through her, and barely managed to leap out of the way as two rock-hard tentacles whipped towards her. She dropped like a stone, rolling as she hit the forest floor, and turned as soon as she was up, leaping and using her knives like picks, clambering up the banshee. It twisted wildly, tentacles still clutching its ruined eyes, and Jarqual did as she had done before – delving her knife deep into a wound and ripping through the first resistance she found.

She felt the banshee scream again, and it buckled wildly at the point where Jarqual had ripped into it. She just dropped away in time as it curled down on itself and then dissolved into liquid, soaking the harpies below.

Sensing the importance of what she had done, Jarqual sent the message of how to kill them quickly through the pentangle necklace, and felt her harpies fill with triumph as the banshees died.

Jarqual felt the harpies attacking to her right having difficulty, and she ordered the pack that had attacked the banshee with her to help. She ran with them, but by the time they got there a female had already put Jarqual's method into practise and the banshee was little more than puddles.

Her awareness of the other harpies alerted her to the fact that the banshees were retreating. She conveyed the news to he others and grinned with them as she led them north to harry the fleeing banshees.

She needn't have worried – the third group picked them off easily from their vantage points in the rocks. Jarqual felt Kriz in particular practically explode with pride when one of his throwing knives lodged inside a banshee, killing it almost instantly.

Jarqual grinned as the last banshee dissolved and called through the necklace for the harpies to come home – their territory was safe, and this wholesale slaughter of what was most likely their finest warriors would cause the banshee King to think twice before trying to invade again!

A crowd of triumph and grisly satisfaction filled her up as they responded. On the way back, the potion wore off and Jarqual released the power of the pentangle necklace. Finding Kriz, she grinned at him and he snarl-grinned back, mock-roaring in excitement. He was so fresh out of the tunnels that he hadn't killed anyone in the pits yet, which meant that his first kill was a banshee! He was so proud Jarqual laughed outright.

Jarqual decided she wanted some privacy, and ran ahead, then slowed to a walk. Just as she was about to come upon one of the entrance hole, a raven cawed a greeting from above.

Jarqual smiled as she looked up. "Greetings, wind surfer."

"And mine to you, Queen of the harpies." The raven nodded back, hopping down to the forest floor. "I am surprised you are not involved in the war to the east."

"So it has come to war?" Jarqual said, surprised. "I'm afraid news travels slow, what with the Narnians keeping their heads down and pretending they're extinct."

"The Telmarines now know how wrong they were to presume that." The raven cackled, then paused and cocked his head. "Do you know anything of the east, Queen harpy?"

"Nay, wing brother." Jarqual shook her head. "But you do. I can see the glint of knowledge in your eyes. Would you share your knowledge with me?"

"I would gladly do so." The raven bowed his head.

"Then let us go up higher so we will not be disturbed." Jarqual clambered up the tree till she was settled on a thick branch about fifteen feet up and the raven fluttered his wings as he landed opposite her. "What's your name, wing brother?"

"Jark." He replied, clacking his beak and puffing out his large hood. "And yours, Queen harpy?"

"Jarqual." She nodded. "Tell me of the east. From the beginning."

"It started with the Telmarines and their politics. Our Caspian was in line for the throne of his people, but his uncle had different ideas. When his uncle's wife gave birth to a son, his uncle decided to get rid of Caspian. Well, Caspian escaped to the woods and has rallied the Narnians there to war against his uncle, who is now their king.

"But at some point on that fateful night, Caspian blew Queen Susan's horn!"

"Impossible!" Jarqual was unable to stop herself. "How did he get his hands on that?"

"His tutor gave it to him, apparently." Jark was puffed up with the importance of his story, and continued in its telling. "Well, you've heard the legends – Queen Susan's horn is a magical thing, and has the power to bring the old kings and queens out of the past! Well it worked! Not two days after blowing it, they appeared as if by magic in the ruins of Cair Paravel itself. They saved a dwarf from the Telmarines and came to the aid of Caspian and our people!"

"It worked?" Jarqual nearly fell off her branch. "But…" Her mind sparked. "Is that why they disappeared without trace all those years ago? They were called into the future?"

"But they were adults then." Jark hopped sideways and back. "Those who came to our aid are but children, the same as Caspian. But they remember everything."

"Magic." Jarqual breathed.

"Indeed. Such is the power of Aslan!" Jark crowed.

"And how goes this battle?"

"I cannot say, Queen Jarqual." Jark hung his head, his feathers drooping. "I have taken it upon myself to try and gather more troops, because a raid on the Telmarine castle failed, and many were killed. Could the harpies, perhaps…" He trailed off hopefully.

Jarqual sighed. "I'm afraid not, my friend. We are busy defending our borders from the banshees, and though we put down a major threat not one hour ago, we cannot yet be sure if we are safe in complacency."

"Banshees?" Jark cocked his head. "But they do nothing. Just…stay in the Lantern Wastes."

Jarqual smiled wryly. "They have a new king who seems to have taken upon himself the task all banshees long to complete – the obliteration of my race. They despise us."

"But…why?" Jark was confused. "Did you do something to them?"

"Nay, except mock them with our existence. You see, Jark, harpies and banshees are not Narnian by creation. We came from another world, where the banshees ruled like the Telmarines rule, with blood and hate. They hunted us viciously, killed as many as they could, but we breed fast and they could never completely stamp us out. And then our world died, as all things do eventually, and we were shifted here."

"How were you shifted?" Jark asked, enthralled.

"We know not." Jarqual shrugged. "Our Memory was destroyed in the shift, and we had to start again here. It is no matter. So long as the banshees keep to the Lantern Wastes, why should we care? They breed slowly. They attack when their numbers swell enough to make them cocky, but we drive them back each time." She grinned and Jark cawed his approval.

"As sad as I am to leave you, Queen Jarqual," He said, flapping his wings, "I must be off to gather as many to Caspian and the old kings and queens as I can."

"Aslan's blessing on you, wing brother." Jarqual nodded. "And mine too."

"May Aslan protect you as well, Queen Jarqual." Jark cawed as he flew away. "And farewell!"

Jarqual waited until he was gone, then slid down the tree and into the tunnel at its roots. As she walked the familiar tunnels, a niggling thought troubled her, though she couldn't quite grasp it. It irritated her for a while, then she pushed it away as she activated the pentangle necklace and sent all the information Jark had told her to her harpies. Then she went to her chambers.

It was only later, when she was on the brink of sleep, that the niggling thought revealed itself.

Her voice echoed from the past…

"_King Edmund has been dead for many years."_

"_She lives off her love for the old King of Narnia. Her love for Edmund."_

"_Put up a fight. For his sake, so you will meet him in the afterlife."_

"_He is not dead!"_

"_Goodbye, sister."_

Sister! Rijal!

Rijal had been…right.

Jarqual gasped as if punched in the gut. She herself had told Rijal that Edmund was dead, and yet now he was here in Narnia, alive and fighting with this Caspian and the Narnians against the tyrannical Telmarines! Rijal had not been wrong at the time, but now, she was right.

Jarqual had to tell Edmund! If he was not dead, he had not met her sister in the afterlife, and she had been waiting for over a thousand years! Jarqual almost screamed with the unfairness of it all. She had cared deeply for Rijal, and had sent her honourably to the afterlife expecting her to be met by the love of her life. And now she found that Edmund had not been there at all.

She had to tell him. Knowledge was the most powerful weapon in the world, and she owed Rijal that much.

But…she couldn't leave her harpies now. Not with the threat of the banshees hanging over them.

But they had eliminated the banshee threat.

No, it was uncertain. Who knew what would happen next?

And Edmund would stay in Narnia, wouldn't he? He was, after all, one of the great kings of old.

Of course he would stay. He was a Narnian king! Yes. She would go and talk to him when the banshee threat had calmed down.

Yes.

* * *

_Another sorry, and please review?_


	8. A New King

_OH my GOD I should be HUNG for such unbelieveable story neglect! I have no excuses, and plea for mercy. Thanks to 1m4n, elektrum and BenBulden95 for reviewing, especially BenBulben95 for reminding me that this story needs updating. I am a bad person._

**DICLAIMED**

* * *

No!

"WHAT?!" Jarqual practically screamed.

Jark cawed harshly and flapped away a little. "They just disappeared into nowhere! All four of them!"

"No!" Jarqual sank to her knees in despair and fury. "Will they ever return? Tell me everything!"

"Only if you promise not to shout like that again." Jark said tetchily.

"I swear. Tell me!"

"Very well." Jark came to rest on a small branch. "Mighty Aslan made a door in the air by way of a tree which twisted about until its trunk was split down the middle to create an arch. Aslan said that through the door was the Telmarines' home world, and that they could go there if they wished to make a fresh start.

"Only three went – the old general, Miraz's wife and her father and her baby son. When they walked through the arch and simply disappeared, there was a great commotion, and when someone demanded proof that death did not lie on the other side, King Peter volunteered he and his family to go.

"He gave his sword to King Caspian, who said that he would keep it safe for King Peter's return, and then the Gentle Queen spoke, revealing that they were not to return to Narnia, ever again."

At Jarqual's terrible moan, Jark tried to reassure her. "But it was further revealed by King Peter that the younger two would return."

"King Edmund and Queen Lucy?" Jarqual looked up, her face full of hope.

"Quite so, Queen Jarqual, but probably no time soon, if their past length of absence is any indication. But anyway, they all bode farewell to their friends – Queen Susan kissed King Caspian, and not chastely either!" He cawed happily. "But then King Edmund turned and led first King Peter, then Queen Susan and finally Queen Lucy into the door in the air, and they all disappeared."

"Into thin air." Jarqual murmured to herself. "But who knows how long it will be until he returns? Jark?" She looked to the raven again. "Was any indication given as to when they would return?"

"Nay, Queen Jarqual." Jark shook his feathers sorrowfully. "It could be any time."

She nodded silently, then stood up, her eyes closed. When she spoke, she was composed. "My thanks, Jark. You have done me a great kindness in telling me of this strange event. I do believe I have a new sovereign to pledge loyalty to?"

"That is so, Queen Jarqual." Jark nodded. "The Telmarine castle lies between Glasswater Creek and the Rush River."

She managed a bark of laughter. "That was the site of their camp when they invaded."

"How do you know that?" Jark asked, wide-eyed.

"I was there, Jark." Jarqual looked away distantly. "I remember. And now I will bid you farewell and good winds." She turned back to him with a smile.

"And farewell to you too, Queen Jarqual." Jark bobbed his head and flapped his large wings, fluttering up into the trees.

Jarqual kept herself under control all the way back to her private chambers. Only then did she allow herself to scream with frustration. And on top of all this, she added, glaring down at her swollen belly, I'll be giving birth again in three months.

She wondered whether it would be better to go to Caspian now, or to wait until she had gotten rid of the thing.

Now, she decided. Pledging loyalty was a good confidence boost, especially for a new ruler, and a young one as well. She would announce it tonight, and tell her harpies what Jark had told her.

Three days later saw Jarqual and her pack, Lijal, Valgrak, Loyshal, Jalthan and Kriz (Nyzin had died several hundred years earlier and Halgra had been killed only a week ago in the pits) earning suspicious looks from the humans in the Telmarine village outside Caspian's castle.

Jarqual schooled her expression, hiding her amusement. To them, they looked like children, she knew, and it amused her greatly .

There was a small queue leading into the throne room where Caspian was holding court, and Jarqual sent Kriz to tell the chamberlain's assistant who they were. She had rather taken a shine to him, and after observing him fighting in the pits, she decided that having him in her pack was a good investment. He, of course, was thrilled.

To Jarqual's surprise, it didn't take long for the queue to shorten, and before she knew it, they were inside as a rhino from the northern plains asked what Caspian was going to do about the giants who kept invading to steal food from them. Even when Caspian promised to look into it, the rhino didn't seem convinced. He left, however, and the harpies were next in line.

"Announcing her Highness Queen Jarqual of the harpies from the western woods."

She walked forward and bowed slightly, studying this Caspian. At first glance he looked like any Telmarine – olive skin and black hair – but as Jarqual stared, she saw that his eyes hid determination and a strong spirit. Right now they were bored and slightly nervous.

"King Caspian." She nodded. "I come before you today to let you know that you have the loyalty of the harpies. We are not divided or disputed. Should you need us, we are here. I would also like to speak in private, so is it possible I can arrange an appointment?"

"Of course." Caspian nodded, surprised. His voice had the accent of all the Telmarines, and it suited him well. "Will you be here when court is over?"

"We'll be outside." Jarqual nodded with a small grin. "Amusing ourselves. Good day to you, my King." She bowed once more and swept out, enjoying the stir her entrance had caused.

An hour or so later a badger waddled out of the door and made straight for the small crowd gathered around Kriz and Jalthan as they fought viciously. Jarqual recognised the intent in the badger's eyes and nodded to him. "My greetings."

"And mine." He had a pleasant, earthy voice and nodded to her seriously. "My name is Trufflehunter. The King will see you now."

"Wonderful." Jarqual smiled, turning to the fight. "Kriz! Jalthan!" She snapped. "End it!"

They had been fighting to fill time, and Kriz submitted to save it. They grinned at each other and bickered good-naturedly as Trufflehunter led them through the empty throne room to a small side door which led to a small room occupied by King Caspian.

"Sire." Jarqual bowed.

"Please, relax." Caspian smiled. "You did me a favour today, pledging loyalty without any queries or such."

"It is our way." Jarqual waved the thanks aside, though with a smile. "Aslan appointed you – it is not our place to question the great lion. But I would talk with you, Queen to King. Is there somewhere my pack can wait?" She asked Trufflehunter.

"Of course." He nodded, waddling over to another door. "I'll go with them."

Jarqual waited till the door clicked shut before settling into a chair and speaking. "Your friend can taste atmosphere. He is very wise."

"He is a good friend." Caspian nodded. "I would not be where I am without him."

"Indeed. I want to apologise for not adding my harpies to your army, Sire. We were involved in a small war of our own."

"A war?" Caspian frowned worriedly. "In the west?"

"Nothing to worry about now." Jarqual reassured him. "The banshees have learnt their lesson. I came here to ask you two things, King Caspian." She looked directly into his eyes.

"The first is what do you plan to do in Narnia? Particularly in the west." She added with a small smirk. "And the second is whether you have any idea when King Edmund is returning. I have something important to tell him, and I heard that he and Queen Lucy are to return to Narnia, though regrettably not their older siblings."

"It is true." Caspian said sadly, looking at the floor. "And I'm sorry – I do not know when they are returning. It may not even be in our lifetime."

"It may not be in your lifetime, but trust me," Jarqual smiled tightly. "It will be in mine."

"How so?" Caspian frowned.

"Sire, I was alive when the four Kings and Queens of old defeated the White Witch." She didn't miss the shiver from Caspian at the mention of the Witch, but decided to ignore it. "I was alive when they disappeared. I was there when your people conquered Narnia. I will endure for the next thousand years if no one challenges and kills me for my Queenship."

"You are immortal?" Caspian whispered. "You will never die?"

"Unless killed, no, I will not die of old age." Jarqual smiled. "You have seen my pack. This is the oldest in appearance we get."

"How old are you?" He asked, then blushed slightly, opening his mouth to take it back.

Jarqual waved it away with a laugh. "I was near two hundred when I became Queen, and there have been thirteen hundred years of Telmarine rule, making me near enough one and a half thousand years old." She laughed out loud at the expression of disbelief on Caspian's face.

"But, then…" She saw his gaze flicker to her pregnant belly.

"We can produce as many children as we like, Sire." She smiled. "Our pregnancies are short compared to a human's – only four months."

"And how far along are you?" He asked.

"Three weeks or so." She sighed in irritation and glared down at the bump. "To be honest I can't wait to be rid of the thing."

"But…" Caspian was amazed. "It is your child!"

"Harpies are not like humans, Sire." Jarqual explained. "We don't know our parents, nor do we care." She shrugged. "But to the original question – what do plan to do in Narnia, now that you are King?"

"To be honest, I'm not really sure." Caspian sighed. "First and foremost is the matter of repairing Aslan's How."

"It was damaged?" Jarqual gasped. "How?"

"Catapults." Caspian answered sadly. "It is badly in need of repair."

"I will take care of that." Jarqual said stonily, angry at the sacrilege. "You need not worry."

"My deepest thanks." Caspian smiled, relieved. "Not everyone seems as concerned."

"My harpies helped to build it." She said. "We will repair it." Caspian bowed his head. "What else do you plan to do, Sire?"

"There's so much." He slumped back in his chair. "There's treaties to be made with the Lone Islands and Archenland, and there's this business with the giants…" He looked hopefully at Jarqual. "When the four first started ruling, what did they do?"

"What you are doing, Sire." Jarqual answered. "Muddling along as best they could. You have a castle guard?"

"There's the old one." Caspian made an uncertain face.

"Draft in as many new soldiers as you can, of as many species as you can. Your Telmarine general went through the door in the air didn't he? Have you appointed a new one?"

"No." Caspian shook his head.

"I suggest Glenstorm. I've heard great things about him. Be daring – integrate with the Narnians. Winning the battle was the easy part, as you are finding out. Maintaining a steady, peaceful kingdom is far harder."

"You make it sound so easy." Caspian sighed.

"For harpies at least, it is." Jarqual shrugged. "I don't have many decisions to make. We manage ourselves in years of peace, and when there are battles, we fight as much as we can, on whatever side is closest. Well, we won't do that while you're King." She reassured him. "Aslan appointing you means you command our absolute loyalty."

"Well…that's good." He managed.

"Aye." She grinned. "It is for you. Anyway, I've offered my advice, now it's up to you to take the initiative. Good luck, my King." She stood and bowed.

"I…er…thank you." Caspian stuttered, also standing, taken aback at the abruptness of her leaving. "Any advice on the giants?"

"Show them who's boss." Jarqual said firmly. "Send an envoy to their leader, whoever it is, and tell them exactly where they are not allowed to go. When they go there – which they will, without a doubt – teach them a lesson. Northern giants and Ettins only respond to brute strength. You've met the Good Giants of Narnia? They can advise you."

"My humblest thanks, Queen Jarqual." Caspian smiled with relief.

"No need." Jarqual waved a hand, opening the door to the next room with a smile. "It's in everyone's best interests that you become a great King. Aslan would not have appointed you if he did not see a great future for Narnia within you." She smiled and bowed her head as her pack filed out behind her. "Oh and one more thing." She added, just as she was about to walk out.

"I'm all ears." Caspian smiled.

"Even if you mess up, you must always keep at it. People respect kings who show their strength and persevere. No one respects a king who can't hold his own."

"Thank you." Caspian nodded. "I'll remember that."

"That's all I ask." She smiled, disappearing out the door.


	9. A Strange New Land

_Best to upload in clumps so I don't forget again and get penalised for neglect._

**DISCLAIMED**

* * *

Jarqual grinned as she leapt into the river with a yell. She had spent the entire morning in the pits, and she was filthy!

Well, not for much longer. She dived, opening her eyes under the water to watch the fish. Harpies could hold their breath for a long time, almost five minutes, so she floated on the surface, smiling down at the fishes for as long as she could before pulling herself out and clambering up the bank.

The fastest way to dry off was to run, so Jarqual did just that. Her feet flew over the ground as she ran faster and faster. Her thoughts turned suddenly to the King's return from the sea. Apparently he had docked only last night, and she planned to visit him soon. Jarqual shook her head and drove the thoughts from her head by running even faster. The trees flitting by, some of them waving to her.

The trees had come back to life soon after she had returned from Caspian's castle, and some of the younger harpies who had not been alive before the trees slept were spending all their time up in the branches, amazed by trees that talked and moved without the wind.

Jarqual smiled, enjoying the feel of air across her face when suddenly it _changed_.

She tripped and fell heavily, feeling the change scream into her mind, making her clutch her head in fear, staring around with wide eyes. It blared loudly; CHANGE! CHANGE! CHANGE!

Everything was different! Jarqual stared around her. She was no longer surrounded by tall beech trees and sun no longer streamed through the leaves to pool on the forest floor. Instead she was crowded in by squat oaks choked in ivy. The leaves above were so dense it was impossible to tell what time it was. Jarqual tried to calm herself, but her fear was rising in her throat, making it impossible not to panic.

Sounds!

Her head whipped around to glare at the direction the sounds of crashing undergrowth and shouting was coming from. Sounded like…children. Males. She inhaled deeply, but they were downwind and all she could pick up was the mouldering leaves under her and the thick stems of ivy.

They would know where this place was.

She stood up and her foot nudged something. She looked down. A ball? She picked it up and held it, frowning. A hard, white ball. The voices became clearer and she swiveled her ears to listen.

"It can't have gone far!"

"Typical Ed! Batting the ball right into the trees."

"It wasn't my fault! You bowled it!"

They laughed, drawing closer. Jarqual hissed and backed away into a small clearing, waiting. The first boy who came through had red hair like hers and round glasses. He gaped at her.

To him, Jarqual was a girl his age, maybe a little younger, dressed in the most peculiar manner he had ever seen. A black bodice encased her upper half and there was a sleeve made of what could only be net on her right arm, held up by a cord around her neck. A similar sleeve clothed her left leg, which was covered above the knee up by a purple skirt. Her eyes were covered in black, the lines extending almost over her nose, and her hair was spiky, flaring out all over the place. He could do nothing but gape.

She hissed, her lips pulling up over her teeth in a snarl, and his senses returned to him in a blinding flash. He turned to run, his mouth already open to scream when something hard hit the back of his head, knocking him forward. His head knocked into a tree and blackness overcame him. When he woke up much later he remembered nothing of his encounter.

Jarqual snarled silently in frustration as she turned the creature over to see that he was unconscious. She rolled her eyes, then frowned and studied him closer. He was undoubtedly a son of Adam, but he was clearly not a Telmarine, and he was dressed in the strangest clothes she had ever seen.

White shoes of a strange material were on his feet, partially covered by white trousers. He wore a long-sleeved white jersey-type thing and a strange sleeveless knitted slipover over that. He looked perfectly ridiculous.

"Tom! Tommy!"

"Where are you, Tombo?"

The voices were too close, and Jarqual snarled, leaping upwards into the trees. Where was she? One of the Lone Islands? Archenland?

The crashes in the undergrowth grew louder as one of the others drew closer. "Tom? Where are you?" Suddenly a dark-haired son of Adam stepped forward, also wearing ridiculous clothes (white trousers and a white t-shirt this time), and saw his unconscious friend. He gasped and dropped to his knees, shaking the boy's shoulders. "Tom? Can you hear me?" When the boy didn't respond he checked his pulse and stood up, opening his mouth to yell.

Then the branch Jarqual was clinging to broke and she fell next to him with a yowl like an angry cat. She twisted on the floor and jumped up to face the dark-haired boy, whipping her knife from her belt and using her left hand to back him into a tree. He was quite tall, she noted idly. Taller than any harpy male, though not by much. Her right knife kissed his throat and she hissed threateningly.

"Tell me quickly, son of Adam," She snarled, "Where is this?"

His brown eyes were wide and he opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came out. She pressed a little harder. "Speak quickly and I'll let you live! Don't think that I will hesitate to kill you, son of Adam!"

"You're…a harpy." He whispered. "This is impossible!"

"Don't you believe it!" She growled. Suddenly a spark of recognition flashed in her eyes and they widened in horror. "King…Edmund?"

He nodded mutely and she stepped back, unable to speak for shock. His eyes roved all over her as if verifying her reality. Sense returned to her in a shock and she knelt, holding her knives out to him by the pommel, the lions walking on her palms. "Sire."

"You're a harpy." He whispered again. "How…how did you get here?"

"I do not know." She shook her head, not meeting his eyes. "I was running in the western woods when I was suddenly running here instead. I don't understand why it happened, or how."

He stared at her – she could feel his eyes burning on her skin. Then he suddenly came to his senses. "Rise." As she did he lunged forward and grabbed her in a rough hug. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you." He breathed before pulling back. "Listen, you'll have to hide here. You're lucky it's the last day of term and my aunt's house is close. If you stay here, right here, I'll come and get you in a few hours. Okay?"

She nodded. "Of course, Sire."

He grinned sheepishly. "Don't call me that here. Here I'm just Edmund."

She frowned. "But you are a King."

"Not here." He shook his head. They both turned as two more voices began to grow louder. "I'll explain later." He promised. "For now, just hide."

She bowed her head and melted into the trees. Edmund waited a moment before yelling for the other two. "Hey! Will! James! I've found Tommy! He's knocked himself out!"

Laughter, and then two more sons of Adam burst into the clearing. "How did he do that?" The taller one laughed.

Edmund shrugged. "Who knows? I've found the ball though. Come on – let's haul him back to school so the matron can have a look at him. He might have concussion."

"He'll be a right side better than normal then." The tall boy grinned, but bent down and took Tom's arms while Edmund took his legs. The other boy grabbed his middle, and they wobbled a bit, getting used to Tom's weight. "He needs to lay off the sausages." The tall boy gasped. "Come on then, chaps. Heave!"

They laughed as they carried Tom away, and Jarqual watched cautiously from the shadows. A few hours, he said. Well she could wait.

The sun was low in the sky when King Edmund returned to the clearing. He wasn't decked out in white, but he still looked a little ridiculous in shorts and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up. "Erm…" He looked around. "Harpy?"

"My name is Jarqual." She leapt down from the trees behind him, making him jump.

"Jarqual." He frowned. "I've heard that before." He suddenly caught sight of the necklace and gasped. "You're the Queen? But I thought that was –"

"Don't!" She sprung forward, slapping her palm over his mouth before he could say her sister's name out loud. She stepped back carefully when she was sure he wouldn't speak Rijal's name and draw her spirit to them.

"I'm sorry; I forgot you believe that speaking the names of the dead will bring them back."

"Aye." She nodded. "And my sister's spirit will be restless indeed."

He frowned, about to ask why, but then shook his head, collecting himself. "Wait, first we have to find a way to get you into my aunt's house without being too suspicious." He studied her thoughtfully. "Ah!" He grinned. "I've got it. These woods connect to the woods right behind Aunt Mary's house. She told me to walk back to her, and I'll take you. Right now she'll be listening to the radio in the sitting room, and she won't notice if a steal one of Susan's old dresses for you. We'll make it look as though I simply found you lost and alone in the woods. You can pretend to have lost your memory, and when she reports finding you to the police no one will know who you are and claim you. She's kind hearted, and will most likely take care of you. It's perfect!"

Jarqual thought it through and nodded slowly. "Sire?" She asked after a moment.

"Don't call me that." Edmund said automatically. "But yes?"

"Is this your home world? Where you really came from when you appeared in Narnia for the first time?"

He nodded. "Yes. This is where we all come from."

"And…" She looked around. "I've been looking around. There's…nothing here. No talking beasts, no fauns, satyrs or centaurs, nothing. And the trees are sleeping."

Edmund bit his lip, then took her wrist. "Come on. I'll tell you about it on the way."

And he did. He told her about how this place was a country called England and all the things like fauns and talking animals were fairy tales. He told her that they were at war, and laughed when Jarqual asked why he wasn't fighting.

"I'm just a kid here." He shook his head with a sad smile. "Not a King, not even important. I'm just another schoolboy. Peter will be joining up soon, I suppose." He looked troubled. "I don't want him to."

"But…he is a great soldier." Jarqual frowned, not understanding. "Why would you have him stay here?"

"He was a great soldier in Narnia, with sword and shield." Edmund explained. "Here we don't use swords. We have guns and planes." At Jarqual's look of confusion he chuckled weakly. "I'll show you later. Right now, you have to stay here. That's my aunt's house." He pointed between the branches up a hill where a small cottage leaned comfortably to the left. "I'll be right back." He promised. "Try to get your makeup off, alright?"

"My makeup?" She shook her head. "What's that?"

"Uh…the stuff around your eyes." Edmund explained. "You need to get rid of it. The knives too." He added, casting a pointed look at her belt where the black blades gleamed. "We can come back for them later." He reassured her before running away up the hill.

Jarqual made a face. Remove her battle charcoal? Well…he _was_ still her King, and she _had_ sworn loyalty…she sighed and started rubbing at her eyes furiously, smudging the charcoal into two huge panda-marks around her eyes. She spat on her fingers and did her best to clean as much of it off as she could.

By the time she was done, Edmund was running back down to her, a whiteish sheet-thing flapping from his hand. He flopped down next to her and thrust the thing at her. "Here."

"What is it?" She asked, making a face.

"A…a dress." He tilted to get a better look at her face. "Well…it's not much of an improvement, but at least you don't look too much like a warrior anymore. I'll, erm, stay here. You can change over there." He pointed and turned to stare at his aunt's house.

Jarqual rolled her eyes and went away. A dress? It was like a skirt and t-shirt combined. She shimmied out of her harpy clothes and stepped into the skirt, pulling the t-shirt bit up over her shoulders and doing up the line of buttons at the front. She grimaced. It was uncomfortably tight around the front of her neck. When she stomped back to Edmund, he stifled a laugh. "What?" She snapped.

"It's just…you've got it on backwards." He smiled apologetically.

"How am I meant to do up buttons at the back?" She demanded, striding away and returning with most of the buttons at the back undone. "You do it."

"Er…" Edmund closed his eyes briefly. "Okay. Turn around." She heard him take a deep breath, then warm fingers brushed her back and began to pull the two parts of the dress together. He exhaled noisily when he was done. "There. Now we need to muddy it."

"Why?"

"Because you've been wandering around in the woods, and girls are expected to be clumsy and scared, so you'll've fallen over and torn it up a bit. Plus, we need to make it look as though it's not Susan's. Aunt Mary probably won't notice, but it's better to be on the safe side."

Jarqual rolled her eyes but dutifully ripped a few holes in the skirt with her knife and smeared a clod of dirt over herself.

"Put some on your face too."

Jarqual growled but obeyed. She threw the clod of dirt away and glared at Edmund. "There."

"Your hair." He said thoughtfully. "No girl has hair like that here. Let it out and mess it up a bit." Jarqual rolled her eyes but unclipped her hair, letting it tumble in bright flaming tangles, still a little damp from the river in Narnia. She touched her tongue to a wet patch lightly, tasting the clear water with a sigh before mussing it all up.

"Looks a bit too messy now." Edmund smiled. "Can you plait it? Two pigtails?"

"Two what?" Jarqual stared at him like he was a lunatic.

"Pigtails. It's another name for plaits. You know plaits, surely?"

"Aye, centaurs and nymphs do strange things to their hair." She looked at him suspiciously. "Do humans?"

"Only human girls." He grinned. "So you don't know how to plait?"

"No."

"Never mind then. Just…smooth it down a bit. It looks like you've been dragged through a hedge backwards."

"I thought that was the intention."

"Not quite. Come on." He took her hand and tugged her up the hill. "Leave your things. I'll come back for them later, I promise."

"So long as I get my knives back." She said cautiously. "What's your aunt like?"

"Old. She's my great-aunt really, but that's too much of a mouthful, so she told me just to call her aunt. She's kind though, and quick, so watch what you say. She doesn't like rudeness either, so…don't talk back, don't speak at all unless spoken to, don't talk with your mouth full or chew with your mouth open, always ask before you do anything, say please and thank you a lot and she'll love you."

"So…don't act like a harpy." Jarqual said dryly. "What am I supposed to live on? I can't fight myself."

"Oh!" He slapped his head with his palm. "I forgot harpies live off battle-glory or whatever you call it. Okay…I'll fight you. How long can you go without fighting from now?"

"Two days at most."

"Right. I'll take you into the woods as soon as I can and fight there."

"You'll fight me?"

"Well I don't think the squirrels will be much competition." He grinned. "Here we go." He schooled his expression. "Brace yourself. Act…nervous. Scared even. Can you do that?"

"I can try." Jarqual sighed.

"Then on with the show." Edmund pushed open the door.


	10. Telling Edmund

_Heh heh - okay, making clear - Jarqual is not pregnant here. Time has passed since she pledged loyalty to Caspian - remember in chapter 9 she thought about the King's return from the sea? That was the Dawn Treader. Sorry for not making that clear. Thanks to Benbulben95 for reviewing and MyBlueOblivion for putting this on alert!_

**DISCLAIMED**

* * *

Jarqual sighed in the small bed Edmund's great-aunt had given her. The sheets were scratchy and stifling. She threw them all back except the thin one at the bottom. They weren't as comfortable as her furs in the tunnels, but they would do.

Mary had gasped when Edmund had pulled her in, gabbling about finding her lost in the woods on his way back from school. He added that she couldn't remember anything, and had woken up in the middle of the woods, totally alone.

Jarqual tried her hardest to look scared and tearful, though she had never wept a tear in her life. Edmund had told Mary that Jarqual couldn't remember her name but liked to be called Helen. It was the first girl's name he came up with.

Mary had instantly set about fussing; giving her a bowl of soup and telling Edmund to look after her while she telephoned the police. While she was gone, Edmund had coached her quickly through the questions they were likely to ask her and how to answer.

The police had indeed turned up, two women in smart uniforms. They had been very kind and soft-spoken, and Jarqual answered all their questions easily, sniffing and pretending to cry at one point when she saw Edmund's miming in the background. It was pathetically easy to fool them and as Edmund had predicted, Mary offered to take her in until she remembered anything.

The old woman had even bathed her. It had been excruciatingly demeaning, but Jarqual pretended she was fighting in the pits while the woman sloshed water over her hair. Never in her entire life had Jarqual ever had her hair washed, and she hoped it would never happen again. The soap had gotten into her eyes, making them sting horribly and the water was hot! Whoever heard of hot water to bathe in? The warmest water she had swum in was Beaver's Pond on a hot summer's day, and even that was only warm on the surface.

And now she was tucked up in bed in a tiny little room in 'England'. It was humiliating. She was the Queen of the harpies! She was over a thousand years old! And now she had to behave like a pathetic child. Was this how the Kings and Queens had felt returning to this world after living in Narnia? If that was the case, she respected them now more than ever.

Suddenly there was a quiet knock on her door. "Hey?" Edmund whispered. "Are you awake?"

She leapt up and flung open the door. "Of course."

"Okay then." He smiled nervously. "Did you want me to explain anything?"

"Yes!" She hissed, dragging him in. "Tell me how you came to Narnia the first time, and how you got back. I need to get back to my harpies – I have the pentangle necklace!"

"Right." He nodded, sitting down on the bed, motioning for her to do the same. "It started when we were evacuated. All the children from towns were being sent into the country so they'd be safe, away from the air raids."

"Air raids?"

And so Edmund spent the next hour telling Jarqual everything, all about the war between the Nazi's and the Allies, their evacuation, the wardrobe and how they got through and back. Then, fast-forwarding a year, their return to Narnia to help Caspian. And then another year and his and Lucy's return on the Dawn Treader. That had been only last holiday, Edmund told her, then having to explain the schooling system and the terms and holidays.

When Jarqual was finally satisfied, it was Edmund's turn to ask the questions.

"I expected you to be there at the battle of Aslan's How." He said. "Why weren't you?"

"We were involved in a war of our own with the banshees." Jarqual said darkly. "We would have been there otherwise."

"I asked Caspian about the harpies on the Dawn Treader and he said that their Queen had been a great help. Was that you?"

"It was." She nodded. "I have been Queen ever since the Telmarines invaded."

"Then…your sister…"

"I killed her."

"What?" He was horrified.

Jarqual cocked her head. "It is the harpy way. She would have kept us out of the battle between the Telmarines and the Narnians. We lost, but that wasn't the point. She wasn't acting as a harpy should. I had to lead them in the right direction." Edmund still looked horrified and Jarqual gazed at him. "You liked my sister, didn't you?"

"Of course!" Edmund whispered. "She…she was my guide when I was learning about the western woods. She never treated me like a traitor when the others did in the early days. She and I were friends." He ended sadly.

"She never accepted your death." Jarqual revealed softly. "You disappeared in her territory and she took it very badly. No one ever found bodies, of course, so she refused to believe that you were dead, you especially." She fixed Edmund with a penetrating gaze. "She became Queen for you, Sire."

"What do you mean?" Edmund frowned.

"She never told you, evidently." Jarqual said quietly. "The moment we heard that you had triumphed at the Battle of Beruna she challenged the old King and killed him. She was the youngest Queen the harpies have ever had, only a hundred or so years of age. She knew who you were the second she saw you because she had seen you before. She had unwavering faith in you because she knew you were good at heart."

"How could she know that?" Edmund whispered.

"She saw you try to protect a fox from the Witch in the forest near the great waterfall. She was one of the scouts with orders to spy on the Witch and she saw you. She changed then, I think."

"Changed?" Edmund frowned.

"Come on, Sire!" Jarqual shook her head. "You must have noticed how different she was from other harpies. She did not fight with us, or try and steer us towards conflict. She was _changed_, as no harpy has ever been changed before."

"How do you mean, changed?"

"She did not live off battle glory like we do. She never visited the pits nor fought me, her closest friend, in a sparring match. She lived without fighting, impossible for a harpy. Seeing you in the woods, protecting the fox, changed her. She no longer lived like us. She lived off something else."

"What?" Edmund whispered.

"I…" Jarqual bit her lip. When she had heard that the four had disappeared after Caspian's coronation she had screamed with frustration, for she had intended to tell him of her sister's love for him to honor her memory. But telling him straight out now seemed like the wrong way to go about it. "When I killed my sister," She began hesitantly, "I did so in the absolute belief that you would be in the afterlife with her, and she could be content with you as she was never content with us. She was more human than harpy, after all.

"When I discovered that you were, in fact, alive and fighting with King Caspian, I realized how wrong I had been. She had been right all along, and I had not believed her. I enraged her, provoked her in our final battle so that she would fight, and then die with honor. It took a great deal to provoke my pacifist sister." She looked away.

"What did you say?" Edmund asked slowly, angry for his lost friend.

Jarqual sighed. "My sister only had one weak spot – you." She looked up at him painfully. "I revealed her deepest secret to the court so that they would mock her and goad her into fighting. Harpies do not have secrets, but she was no longer a true harpy. At heart, she was human."

"What did you say?" Edmund's voice was dangerous.

"I told the court of her true feelings for you." Jarqual whispered. "And that _that_ was what she lived off."

"Her…true feelings for me?" The anger leaked out of his voice, replaced with uncertainty.

"Aye." Jarqual nodded, not meeting his eyes. "Harpies cannot love, Sire. It is not in our hearts. We do not even care for our children. But she loved, and was not _less_ than a harpy…but somehow…_more_."

There was silence.

Jarqual looked up at Edmund to see that he was staring out of the window with a strange expression she could not interpret. He stood up silently and walked out, closing the door behind him.

Jarqual lay back down, frowning. Had she handled that well? Well, it wasn't like Rijal was going to know till one of them died, but in Edmund's silence, she felt that she had somehow let Rijal down.

Edmund stared at the ceiling in his room, lost in memory.

In his mind, he was back on Philip, walking into the western woods with his siblings for the first time as a King of Narnia. Oreius and some other guards were just a little way behind them.

_They had been just a little way north of the allies' enclave, just about to cross the river when black-clad figures emerged silently from the undergrowth, surrounding them in a curious circle. They looked like children about Peter's age, but their tattoos, charcoal markings, weapons and battle-scars suggested otherwise._

_Peter and Oreius drew their swords, but the strange creatures didn't move, simply staring without smiling._

_Then the circle parted slightly to allow another one of them through, a female. She wore a strange necklace – a five-pointed star inside a silver circle. She bowed low, and so did the others. "I am Rijal, Queen of the harpies. Welcome to the western woods, my Kings and Queens."_

_She had showed them a comfortable place to camp for the night, and had stayed to pledge her loyalty. She had been particularly interested in him, Edmund remembered, but he had sadly dismissed her interest as caution around a known traitor._

_Later, she had caught him alone as he walked back to his tent after talking to Philip. He had noticed her watching him and snapped. "I may have been a traitor, but that doesn't mean you have to watch my every step."_

"_Is that what you think?" She had sounded a little hurt, he remembered. "I am only interested, Sire. I…admire you. The Witch had not one willing traitor, and you survived and admitted your betrayal freely."_

"_What?" He frowned. "Oh…sorry. I thought…"_

"_It is no problem, Sire." She smiled. "Tomorrow, would you perhaps need a guide? I hear that you are lord of these woods now, and it would not do at all for you to be lord of a place you know little of."_

"_I'd like that." He smiled gratefully, pleasantly surprised at her kindness. "Thank you."_

"_It will be my pleasure, King Edmund." She smiled back._

He slipped into sleep, not so much troubled as comforted by memories of so long ago.


	11. Fighting and Philosophy

_Thanks to rmiller92, Britishgl and Benbulben95 for reviewing. I appreciate it HUGELY!!!_

**DISCLAIMED**

* * *

The next day Edmund convinced Aunt Mary to let him accompany Helen into the woods in case there was anything that triggered her memory. After a little nervous fussing, the old woman consented, wrapping them some sandwiches and reminding Edmund to telephone his siblings when he got back.

The first thing they did was collect Jarqual's clothes and knives that she had stashed in a hollow tree. She smiled in satisfaction as she fastened her belt around the hips of the human dress she wore and spun her knives in her palms, relishing their touch.

Jarqual was colder than Rijal, Edmund noticed as he led her to the stream at her request. Yet, even as she was colder, Jarqual flared brighter than any star with her passion and uncontrollable emotions. She was the stereotypical harpy leader, and she didn't give a damn who knew it.

When they reached the stream, Jarqual sighed relief and slipped her hands in, splashing her face with a smile. At Edmund's curious glance she explained. "Your great-aunt made me use warm water. It felt...unnatural. I prefer cold streams and rivers."

Edmund had brought some books, and when Jarqual was done he showed her pictures of the world she was in. She was fascinated by the posters and cigarettes and pictures of the planes, though she thought them strange and distasteful. She couldn't quite seem to comprehend the scale of the Earth itself, and when Edmund told her that the stars and sun and moon and planets were nothing more than burning balls of gas and dead lumps of rock she laughed outright and told him not to joke around.

Giving up on the solar system, Edmund showed her guns. Jarqual went quiet and frowned, watching Edmund closely as he mimicked shooting one and showed her pictures of machine guns and bombs. She shook her head solemnly and her eyes narrowed slightly as she asked questions about how they worked and what powered them, and she listened silently as Edmund explained the mechanisms inside that sparked and made the gunpowder explode, causing the bullet to fly out at great speed.

"Pray to Aslan that such an atrocity never comes to Narnia." Jarqual said coldly.

Edmund nodded quietly. "In the beginning, when I first came to Narnia, I wished there were guns, if only to make it a more familiar war. After killing in the Battle of Beruna, I realized just how much damage a single gun could do if it were brought to Narnia."

"It would be devastating." Jarqual agreed. "I prefer Narnia to this world. Life is…easier there. Here I would not be allowed to kill someone?"

"Would you be allowed in Narnia?" Edmund asked, disturbed.

"Well…" Jarqual made a face. "In a manner of speaking – yes. People die all the time."

Edmund huffed and rolled his eyes. "I liked your sister better."

"That's because you are human." Jarqual said simply, not offended. "She was more human than harpy, as I have said."

"Yes." Edmund nodded, his mind flying back to their conversation last night. "I wish…I wish I could see her again. Did you have to kill her?"

"Aye, Sire." Jarqual nodded. "It's the way we live. If I had not, another would have. I, at least, ensured that she died fighting. She'll be honored in the afterlife."

"Afterlife?"

"Aye. Where we go when we die. Your soul stays there as long as you will it, and then when you want to go on, you will."

"Can the souls see us?" Edmund asked, curious. He didn't believe in any of it, but he had always been interested in how beliefs affected how people thought.

"No. My sister won't have gone on though. She'll have stayed there."

"Why?"

"Waiting."

"What for?"

"You mean 'who for'."

Silence. Then, "Me?"

Jarqual smiled slightly. "Well I don't think she'll be waiting for me."

Edmund's lip twitched, though his eyes remained troubled.

Jarqual noticed and studied him dispassionately for a moment. "What troubles you, Sire?"

"Don't call me that." He mumbled, then sighed.

Jarqual rolled her eyes. "Is this a human thing?"

His lip twitched again, though his eyes remained downcast.

Jarqual shrugged. "Fine. I probably wouldn't understand anyway." She stood up and stretched, then leapt straight into the stream, sending up a great splash and soaking Edmund.

He jumped to his feet and scowled. "Hey!"

Jarqual hid under the water and poked her eyes and nose above the surface, watching him amusedly. He frowned and she suddenly darted forward like a snake and grabbed his ankle, giving it a mighty tug to bring him down with a thud onto his back. That done, he slipped down the bank and into the water.

Jarqual laughed as he came up coughing and spluttering, his hair plastered to his head. She was taken unawares as his foot booted her squarely in the chest, pushing her backwards and down under the water.

They splashed each other and threw handfuls of weeds and wet grass till they both tired and hauled themselves up onto the bank to dry out.

"How will you fight me?" Jarqual asked a while later.

Edmund turned his head to look at her, then back to stare at the canopy above. "I'm not sure. A big stick?"

"I'd cut it to pieces. You do not have a sword?"

"No, I…" He trailed off, then sat up, a grin on his face. "Wait here. I'll be right back!" So saying, he leapt up and ran away in the direction of the house.

Jarqual huffed and rolled her eyes, letting her eyes drift shut and her right hand brush the pommel of her knife in case something happened. Though that didn't seem likely – Edmund had told her that there used to be wolves and bears in England hundreds of years ago but humans had hunted them until they all died. The biggest predators now were badgers and foxes.

Humans in small numbers seemed to do good, like Edmund and his siblings. Humans in large numbers, like the Telmarines and this strange world, seemed to be able to do naught but destroy, even to their own cost. It was so odd.

A while later, her ears swiveled to catch the far-off sounds of Edmund returning. She waited patiently for him to get within ten meters before rising to her feet expectantly. True to the smug grin on his face, Edmund held an old sword in his right hand.

"Where did you get that?" Jarqual frowned. "I thought you said that humans weren't allowed to use real swords anymore in case one of them got hurt."

"Well, yes." Edmund smiled, swinging the sword experimentally. "But this belonged to Aunt Mary's father or something like that, and she kept it for the memories. Technically, she should have given it in for metal for the war effort, but she loves it too much."

Jarqual eyed the ancient-looking blade doubtfully. "Are you sure it's up to this?"

"Sure." Edmund sliced it through the air and leveled it at Jarqual with a challenge in his brown eyes. "Shall we? I wouldn't want you to starve, after all." He grinned.

Jarqual smiled dangerously and shifted slowly into her attack position; pommels of her knives encased in her palms so the blades stuck right out, left arm angled into her body, the knife pointing away, the slicing side angled forward. Right arm bent next to her head, held above her shoulder, knife point angled forward to stab. Legs set slightly apart, bent at the knees.

"On my count, then?" Edmund smirked. "One. Two…"

"Three!" Jarqual snarled, leaping forward with a grin.

The first blows traded were to gouge each other's strength – Edmund was found to be the stronger, his height and bulk working in his favor. Jarqual was quicker though, moving in a blur, and she had the advantage of the acrobatics and natural grace that came to all harpies.

She totally surprised Edmund when he slashed expertly at her middle and she back-flipped out of the way – the expression on his face made her growl a laugh as she somersaulted next to him and sliced her knife at his neck.

It was close, very close.

Edmund fought harder than he had fought for a year, and he loved every second. It was like being back in Narnia again. He swung the sword brutally, his strength overcoming Jarqual's hasty block. He brought up his foot and booted her like he had in the stream, making her step backwards with a grunt. He brought the sword up and spun tightly, using his body to cut off Jarqual's frontal dash for escape and curving his sword down to her unprotected back.

She ducked and slipped between his legs, facing him with a dangerous expression on her face. Edmund felt his mask slide down to match hers. Battle faces, his old teachers had called them. It felt good to wear his again.

He whipped his sword around as fast as he could, and though Jarqual tried to duck away, the tip just scratched her cheek. It wasn't very sharp, but it scraped the skin. Her eyes widened in something between excitement and anger and she touched her fingers lightly to the scratch, then stared at Edmund with narrowed eyes.

He crouched, bracing himself for an attack. Boy did he get one. His eyes widened as Jarqual brought the fight up another notch, flipping back and forth and up and over faster and faster and faster, dizzying and disorientating him.

He shook his head and forced himself to concentrate, to focus. Jarqual was a blur flipping back and forth, her arms alternating between outstretched and pulled in. Suddenly, with such brutal force and strength it was hard to imagine that she had the appearance of a skinny girl, she attacked.

Edmund could barely parry or block, the speed of her knives was that great. He just managed to hold her off, but she was backing him up, her battle mask dispassionate and cold. His back hit a tree and he ducked and rolled as she stabbed directly at his head. He heard her other blade slice through the air close by and rolled over, the blade missing him by mere centimeters.

He rolled to his feet and swung heavily at Jarqual's back. One of her blades, he wasn't sure which, sprung up to meet his, but the knife was no match in strength for his sword and he pressed her backwards into the tree, his blade grinding against hers as she locked her arm to prevent him cutting her open.

Her other arm flashed downwards and he shifted quickly to the side, though it ripped a long hole in the arm of his shirt. Scowling, he secured her to the tree with one hand on his sword and the other grabbing her other hand and pinning it to the bark with a savage growl.

Her mask slipped for a second, and he focused quickly enough to feel surprised and suspicious that she was smirking. His mouth had just formed the word 'what?' when her knee connected, quite forcefully, with his groin.

Jarqual bit her lip to keep from laughing as Edmund's mask shattered with the power of his pain and he couldn't quite manage to stifle the agonized squeak that escaped from his throat. Then, just as suddenly, he pushed her harder into the tree, even though his eyes were watering his and his mask was beyond repair.

She raised her eyebrows as he glared at her through tears, daring her to talk. She smirked and nodded. "Conceded. For the first time in over…oooo…" She made a face, "At _least_ six hundred years."

Edmund made a sound that sounded like, "Mmpfff." As he stepped backwards and released her. His sword dropped heavily to the ground as he gave into pain and curled up into a ball, moaning almost inaudibly.

Jarqual smiled and walked away to give him time to recover. Despite everything, she was impressed: pretty much any creature, be it centaur, faun, satyr or beast, would fall at a knee in the unmentionables. But Edmund had managed to hold himself together long enough to draw a concession out of her. It was quite amusing, in a way.

About five minutes later Edmund came and stood beside her silently. She glanced at him – he was scowling and not looking at her. She frowned and wondered what was wrong. Probably some human thing. "Sire?"

"…"

She sighed impatiently. "You are…sulky. Why?"

"Sulky?" He cried, turning to face her. "Sulky? You'd be sulky too if someone had just kicked you in the…"

"Ah." Jarqual nodded understandingly. "You want me to apologize."

"It would be nice." He growled.

Jarqual stifled a laugh at her monarch in a mood. "I apologize for using an…underhand move, King Edmund."

"Don't call me that." He muttered.

She huffed in annoyance. "Why not? I would be insulted should any of my subjects not address me as their Queen."

"But you're not my subject any more." Edmund shook his head. "No Narnian is."

"And what gives you that idea?" Jarqual asked haughtily.

"I'm never going back to Narnia, Jarqual." Edmund's eyes were downcast. "My voyage on the Dawn Treader was the last trip into Narnia I'll ever make. Aslan said so himself."

"And so?"

Edmund blinked, looking at Jarqual in surprise. Whatever her reply, he had not expected it to be that. She gave him a look that suggested he was a total dullard.

"What do you mean?" He asked finally. "I can never go back; I'll never be a King of Narnia again; and you are no longer my subject."

"Sire," Jarqual sighed, shaking her head. "We may not have fought in the Battle of Beruna, but our representative was there at your coronation, however unwelcome we were there. As you cited Aslan a moment ago, let me cite him now: 'Once a King or Queen of Narnia, always a King or Queen'." Her feature softened slightly. "Sire, so long as there is breath in your lungs and blood in your body, you are a King of Narnia, no matter what world you are in. Just as I am still the Queen of the harpies."

"But that's different!" Edmund protested. "You're a Narnian! You belong there. I…we…don't."

She hissed like a wildcat, startling him. "My sister told you everything about us, did she not? Have you forgotten so easily our true origins?"

"True origins?" Edmund mouthed silently, frowning to remember. His expression cleared suddenly and his mouth formed an "Ohhh…" of comprehension.

"Aye, Sire." Jarqual nodded, her eyes narrowed. "We are not Narnian. And yet I am still Queen of my people. No matter what world any of us are in, I still command them."

"But there's none for you to command, Queen Jarqual!" Edmund spread his arms and twisted in a circle.

"Does that make me any less of a Queen?" Jarqual drew herself up haughtily. "I could be broken and bloodied, shot with one of your _guns_," She spat the word distastefully, "And I would still die a Queen. That is the way things work."

"Not for me." Edmund shook his head.

Jarqual snarled and spun to shove her face close to his, forcing him to look at her. "Would you deny the words of Aslan?"

"No, but I'm not in Narnia anymore." Edmund sighed as if talking to a child. "It's different."

Jarqual snarled terribly. "Don't patronize me. You lived in Narnia for fifteen years. The Valiant, the Just, the Gentle and the Magnificent. As far as the Narnians and ourselves are concerned, you are akin to Aslan; coming and going as and when you are needed, but your true world is Narnia, just as Aslan's world is Narnia."

"But we're not like him." Edmund protested. "He's…like a…god or something. He _created_ Narnia! We're just kids who stumbled into a wardrobe by accident!"

"You really think it was an accident?" Jarqual stared at him like he was the densest creature she had ever laid eyes on. "That you just happened to be born as two sons of Adam and two daughters of Eve? That your evacuation to that house was mere chance? That the wardrobe was a doorway to Narnia by luck? And you all came into it at exactly the right time to fulfill the prophecy and kill the Witch?" She snorted. "I think not, Sire."

Edmund growled in frustration. "You think all that was meant to happen? That I was meant to betray my own brother and sisters to that evil Witch?"

"Of course." Jarqual said calmly. "You said so yourself that you were a selfish, spiteful brat before you came to Narnia. Being captured by the Witch changed you for the better. It could not have happened to your sisters or your brother – they were already at peace. You were not. So, it was all meant to happen." She smirked smugly, pleased at her reasoning. Edmund just stared her.

"You've had a lot of time to think about this, haven't you?"

"I am old." She replied simply. "Are you convinced yet? Once a King or Queen of Narnia, always a King or Queen?"

Edmund smiled reluctantly. "You're quite good at this."

"I've had lots of time to practice." She said dryly. "Now – should we go back now? What's a telephone?"

"Tele-oh!" Edmund gasped, remembering Mary's words to him as they left. "I'll explain on the way. Come on!"

"My clothes? My knives? Can I take them this time?"

"As long as you hide them well."

She cackled and snarl-grinned at Edmund. "I can get to the house before you."

Edmund smirked, crouching into a running position. "We'll see. Ready?"

"Since birth."

"Go!"


	12. Telephone Conversations

_Thanks to Benbulben95 and Lehalia for reviewing, and another sorry for failing utterly at updating._

**DISCLAIMED**

* * *

"Why can't you come up here Edmund? Why do we have to go down there?"

"I told you, Lu, Aunt Mary and I have got a rather…surprising guest I want you to meet."

"Is it a girl?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Is she your girlfriend?"

"What?! No! Look, Lu, just…calm down…no, stop giggling! Oh shut up you insufferable girl!"

"Sorry, Edmund. It's just quite funny."

"Only to you! Now listen, come down as soon as you can alright? I'm getting Peter and Susan down as well, so it won't just be you. Can you manage that?"

"Of course I can. Term ends for me tomorrow, so I'll telephone mother to tell her where I'm going and then catch the train down. Will you meet me at the station?"

"What time will you be coming?"

"If I leave on the eleven-fifteen…I should arrive by about two. Is that alright?"

"Wonderful. I can't wait to see you again."

"Oh me too, Ed! I love you."

"Love you too. Goodbye."

"Bye!"

Jarqual smiled in wonder at the telephone as Edmund hung up on his younger sister. "How far away is she?"

"Erm…" Edmund screwed up his face. "A long way."

"How far? From the lamppost to the great lake? From the lamppost to the fords of Beruna? Or from the lamppost to Cair Paravel?"

"Er…the fords? I'm not really sure. I've never been very good with distances. Anyway, be quiet – I have to call Peter."

"High King Peter?"

"Do you know any other Peters?"

"…no."

"Well then." Edmund rolled his eyes as he dialed the number for Peter's university and asked for Peter Pevensie. There was a wait of about a minute, and then the telephone on the other end and Peter's familiar voice floated down to Edmund's eager ears.

"Ed? Is that you? Why are you calling? Is anything wrong? Is it the girls?"

Edmund rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, there's been a change of plan, no and no. Do you want to sit down?"

"I'll be fine, thanks, Ed. A change of plan?"

"Yes. Instead of us all meeting at mother's, we need to meet down here at Aunt Mary's instead."

"Why? Have you broken your leg or something?"

"No, Peter. I've met someone…unexpected. You have to come down and see for yourself."

"Unexpected? What do you mean?"

"I'm not telling you anything more, Pete. You'll just have to wait and see. Lucy's coming down tomorrow by the eleven-fifteen, and I'm calling Susan next."

"Will we be staying long?"

"Erm…we might be. Best pack with a long stay in mind, just in case."

"Alright…why won't you tell me about this guest? Who is it?"

"Someone unexpected."

"Is it a girl?"

"Yes."

"Is she your…"

"No! For goodness sakes, Peter! Shut up! It's….shut up! It's not funny! Urgh. I despair of you."

"Sorry, Ed. Alright, I'll see if I can't meet Lu on the train – she's never liked travelling on her own."

"Great. I'll see you when you get here then."

"Right. I'll call mother."

"Lucy's already doing that."

"Of course. I hope she won't be too upset."

"If she is we can just bring my guest to meet her. Simple."

"In your world it always is. I'll see you tomorrow, Ed. Love you."

"You too. Bye."

"Goodbye."

Jarqual was shaking with suppressed laughter as Edmund hung up, looking rather disgruntled. "What're you laughing at?" He grunted.

"They both asked the same question and laughed and you went all sulky!" Jarqual grinned. "I've never witnessed human sibling relations. It's fascinating."

"It would be." Edmund muttered, rolling his eyes and picking up the telephone again. "And now for the really tough one."

"Won't Queen Susan want to come?" Jarqual asked.

"It's…" Edmund hesitated, pondering over his words. "Susan's complicated. Unpredictable. Hopefully she'll be reassured by Lucy and Peter coming and come along to keep us out of trouble." He smiled. "Quiet now."

Susan was an assistant teacher at a girl's collage and by luck she had just gotten off work. "Hello? Susan Pevensie speaking."

"Su! It's me, Edmund."

"Edmund? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Su. I just called to tell you of a change in plan. We're not going to mother's – you three are meeting me down here at Aunt Mary's."

"What? Why? Has something happened?"

"I just said nothing's wrong didn't I? Calm down. Pete and Lu are coming down on the train tomorrow, so how soon can you come down?"

"I can leave today if you like, but why?"

"There's someone here with me at Aunt Mary's and I can't leave her alone."

"Her? Edmund are you…"

"No! For goodness sakes!"

"What?"

"Oh it's nothing, just that both Lucy and Peter have asked me that. It's getting quite annoying."

"I can imagine. Well, I did finish today and I could catch the train down in an hour…"

"You're already packed ready to go I suppose? And have been for a week?"

"It's good to be prepared."

"I never said it wasn't."

"Hmph. Your…friend, then. Who is she?"

"You'll have to come and see for yourself, Su. Don't be offended – I refused to answer Peter or Lucy's questions either."

"Well…alright then. But I'd better telephone mother to let her know."

"Lucy's already got that covered. See you soon, Su. You'll be at the station in about two hours right?"

"I'm looking forward to it, though I wish you'd tell me what's going on."

"That would ruin the surprise! Goodbye, Su. Love you."

"I love you too. See you soon."

"Bye."

"Goodbye."

"She didn't sound as difficult as you made her out to be." Jarqual said easily, yawning like a cat.

"I think I've caught her on a good day." Edmund said, pleased with his success. "Now, she said she would leave in –"

"An hour." Jarqual finished. At Edmund's look she smirked and swiveled her ears in different directions. "My senses are much better than yours, it would seem, Sire."

"Don't call me that." Edmund said automatically. "Just call me Edmund. Ri– I mean, your sister did."

"My sister loved you." Jarqual said flippantly, and abruptly noticed the look in his eyes she had seen by the stream before she had pulled him in. "You look troubled, Sire. As you did in the woods by the stream."

"Human thing." He muttered.

"Hmm." Jarqual narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. "If you say so, Sire. Your great-aunt is in the kitchen. I think she's going to try and make me eat again."

"Well you can eat, can't you?"

"Yes…" Jarqual shifted and made a face. "But it's uncomfortable. I don't like it, having all that heavy food in my stomach."

"If you don't eat, why do you even have a stomach?" Edmund asked.

"I don't know." Jarqual shrugged. "It makes no difference to my life as I live it. Why should I care?"

"Aren't you curious?"

"Can't you just let things be?" Jarqual fixed him with a penetrating stare. "Humans are like this, aren't they? They always want to know whywhywhywhywhy. What is the point of asking so many questions? Will it make your life any different?"

"Well, it could." Edmund argued. "If you discovered by asking questions that eating normal food was bad for you, that would be a good thing, wouldn't it?"

"Bad for me how? All it does is make me feel heavy. It there was something wrong, my body would let me know by being ill. Harpies are immortal. We rarely fall prey to illness or disease. We don't die of old age – my body will never fail me or deteriorate like your great-aunt's. I will never be old and frail. What do I have to fear?"

Edmund sighed. "Never mind."

Jarqual smiled, a tad smugly and flounced into Edmund's bedroom to ask him about the things he kept in there. One of the more interesting things was what Edmund called an _encyclopedia_, and it had lots of words in it and explained things about each word. Both King and Queen saw immediately how useful it would be, and Jarqual sunk down on Edmund's bed, absorbed in subjects she had not known even existed.

Edmund sat next to her, answering questions she directed at him as well as he could, and they got up to the K's before it was time to meet Susan.


End file.
